


April Showers Bring Musketeers

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (maybe), April Fools' Day, Cotton Candy Fluff, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Angst, Multi, Spring, au prompts, occasional smut, there needs to be more smut this time actually, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts under 1-1.5k word prompts for April, loosely based around spring and springtime merriment. Mostly pairings, some OT3. Tags and triggers will given at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>ComeHitherAshes's posts are as much of a surprise to me as they are to all of you: we don't discuss them beforehand (until we send them to each other and flail about the cuteness). Any similarities are a happy coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComeHitherAshes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - April Fools Pranks
> 
> Tags: OT3, mentioned Constagnan
> 
> Also, happy birthday to me! :)

Athos squinted at the doorknob. He wasn't taking any chances today. Cautiously, he prodded it with his finger. When nothing happened, he risked laying his whole hand on it. Still nothing. He sighed in relief and turned the handle, catching himself before he stepped through the doorway in time to scan the surrounding area. Nothing down the hall; no trip wires on the floor; no cans of paint or buckets of water set to fall on his head.

Alright, then.

He stepped out of his office and caught the door before it hit the wall with the ease of long practice, peering behind it to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, someone had taped an air horn right where the door handle would've hit it if he'd flung the door open. He pulled it free with a sigh and left it on his desk before heading down the hall, careful to check everywhere as he went for any hidden pranks.

Athos _hated_ April Fools' Day. Once upon a time his life had been blissfully free of pranksters and merrymakers, and the holiday had been just another day in the calendar. But now he worked with people who wanted nothing more than to prank him at every turn. He had become their favorite target.

Not that he wanted the days before they'd been around back. He just didn't want to creep around his own office like it was mined with explosives for the entire day. But that was the price he had to pay for his happiness.

He was being especially careful this year, since last year Aramis had managed to paper his entire office in sticky notes while Porthos kept him distracted. (He could never look at that supply closet the same way). The year before, Porthos had coated his keyboard in Jell-O while Aramis filled his car with balloons.

Oh, Athos was done with April Fools' Day.

He glanced around the corner before heading into the lounge. Aramis and Porthos were at the table filling donuts with mayonnaise and giggling like schoolchildren. A box of Oreos sat beside them, presumably also filled with mayonnaise. D'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen, which made him instantly suspicious.

"Come to join the fun, _mon cher_?" Aramis asked when he strolled over to join them. There was mayonnaise in his hair.

"Yes, I'm so eager to join the fun," he said dryly, reaching up to rid Aramis's hair of the goop. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?"

"They look like regular old Boston cream donuts, don't they?" Porthos asked, setting the last donut in the box. Aramis buried the empty mayonnaise jar in the trash so that it couldn't be seen.

"So?"

"So Treville loves Boston cream donuts," Porthos said. Aramis snickered. "And the Oreos are an extra bit of fun."

"You're both going to get fired," said Athos, admiring their ingenuity despite himself. "Where's the pup?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Ran off to warn Constance about all our pranks so she wouldn't get caught in any."

"Knight in shining armor, our pup," said Porthos. "Where do you reckon Treville will see these?"

"Leave them in the cafeteria, he'll snatch them up," Aramis said confidently. "Coming with us?" he asked Athos.

"One of us needs to stay employed," Athos muttered. "He'll have both your heads."

"Spoilsport." Porthos headed out with the box. "We left you one over there," he called over his shoulder. Aramis lingered only long enough to give Athos a quick kiss before darting after him.

Athos eyed the remaining donut. It looked innocent enough, sitting on a paper plate. He prodded it. When it didn't explode, he risked tearing off a bit to see inside. A furtive taste told him that it was indeed a normal donut.

But of course. They were too clever to trick him with something so obvious.

Deciding that it would be churlish to deny the donut now that it had passed his test, he took it back to his office with him. He passed Flea on her way to the lounge and considered warning her about the Oreos, but he decided to let Aramis and Porthos have their fun. If they found out he was spoiling their pranks, they would focus all their efforts on him instead.

He scanned his office before he entered, having learned from years past never to assume any room was safe. He found another air horn hidden under his desk chair. Must've been D'Artagnan, then. The other two were more creative.

He ate the donut, pleased to find it really was normal, and spent an hour deleting fake emails and apologizing to Treville, who had been thoroughly fooled by the donuts in the cafeteria and was ready to burn his lovers at the stake. There was also an alarmed email from D'Artagnan because Constance had pelted him with water balloons the moment he'd entered her cubicle. From his email, it sounded like his youthful faith in true love had been shattered.

Athos sent Constance his congratulations for that one.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, apart from the frantic call from Treville saying that his computer was broken. He sent D'Artagnan to get rid of the screenshot, wondering which of them had hacked Treville's personal computer.

During the ride home, Aramis and Porthos regaled him with tales of their exploits. From the sound of it, they had pranked everyone but Constance, and that was only because she'd been their secret partner in crime. Athos drove quickly, commenting where appropriate, eager to get home.

He let Aramis and Porthos head into the apartment first, trusting that they would avoid any traps they might have set. A massive spider skittered across the floor in front of them and vanished into the study.

Porthos laughed. "That your idea of a prank, love?" he asked Athos skeptically. "Glad you're getting' into the spirit o' things, but that was pathetic."

"Don't tease him, Porthos, he's learning," laughed Aramis. Athos said nothing as they hurried ahead of him into the kitchen. He was hanging up his coat when he heard them fall silent, voices cutting off abruptly.

Athos stalked in behind them to investigate. They whipped around at the sound of his footsteps, staring at him in horror. "Athos, I swear-" Porthos started, voice low with distress.

"It wasn't us!" Aramis cried, eyes wide. "You know we would never-"

"We've got some principles-"

"Please don't kill us-"

Athos looked past them to the massive red stain on the floor. Every wine bottle in the cabinet was uncorked and empty. The corks were lined up in the puddle, spelling out the words _April Fools!_

Athos stared at it silently. Aramis and Porthos were still babbling apologies, looking more and more anxious. He let them continue for a moment longer before he said, "Well, I suppose you ought to clean it up," in his iciest voice.

Aramis immediately grabbed a roll of paper towels and dropped down beside the puddle, scrubbing furiously at the floor. Porthos joined him seconds later. In their frantic haste, it took them several seconds to realize nothing was happening.

"What the fuck?" Porthos asked, tapping a finger against the puddle. It molded to the shape of his finger like rubbery play dough.

Which, incidentally, it was.

"Like it says," Athos said quietly, allowing a triumphant smirk to twist his lips. "April Fools."

They stared at him, flabbergasted. Porthos recovered first. "You sneaky bastard," he cried. "You let us think-"

"But you were at work!" said Aramis, still staring at the gooey puddle. "How did you- when did you-?"

"Ninon offered her assistance," Athos said simply. "She was beginning to worry you had forgotten who the Trickster Queen was."

"But the wine-" Aramis said, still looking confused.

"-Is safely in the study," Athos finished. "Where she hid it. These are the empty bottles from the last few months." He stepped past Aramis and caught the edge of the rubbery puddle. With a sharp tug, he pulled the whole sheet off the floor. "I think we can conclude that I am the winner this year, and you two should just give up."

"Technically Ninon's the winner," Porthos muttered mutinously.

Aramis had recovered at last from his shock, and was watching him thoughtfully. "If we promise never to prank you again, will you get us into Treville's apartment next year?"

Athos thought about it. It wasn't right to unleash the pair of them on their unsuspecting boss, but…

"Deal." He shook hands with both of them and got a kiss from Aramis for good measure. "I'll start dinner. Porthos, can you grab a bottle from the study?"

Porthos laughed and headed out of the kitchen. Aramis stayed for another moment to examine the rubbery puddle. "This really is quite clever. I have to ask though, _mon cher_ , why bother with the fake tarantula if you had this?"

From the study, Porthos shouted in surprise.

"Who said it was fake?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us on Tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave or comehitherashes. If you go to either of our pages and search 'april writing challenge', you can see the list of prompts we'll be using. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this lovely ficlet!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - 3am and the fire alarm in our apartment complex just went off let me lend you my jacket while we wait on the sidewalk/my cute neighbor is standing next to me in his underwear
> 
> Tags: Portamis, adorable men being adorable, slight PG-13 rating ;)

The last thing Porthos wanted after finally falling into bed after his late shift at the precinct was for the fire alarm to start blaring in his ear. But naturally, that was how his life went. He considered just staying there, buried under his covers, in the hopes that the alarm was false. But he really didn't want to get burned to a crisp, so with a world weary sigh he shoved the blankets back and clambered out of bed, pausing to tug a jacket on over his pajamas and slip into his boots before heading out of the apartment building.

There was already a small crowd gathering on the sidewalk out front, so he joined them, breath steaming in the early spring chill. There was still snow on the ground, for fuck's sake. He wanted to be back in his bed, even if it was deplorably empty of attractive companionship.

"This is pleasant," a man he thought might live below him muttered darkly. His blue eyes were stormy under the fringe of his dark hair, and he was glaring furiously at the building. Porthos couldn't help but agree.

He was just thinking of all the ways in which his life was terrible when another man ran out of the building. Porthos choked back a laugh: at least his life wasn't so shit that he'd run out in his _underwear_. At least he had his thick winter jacket on over his pajama sweatshirt.

His laugh died as the guy approached, turning into a choked gasp as they guy came to a stop nearby and his brain finally comprehended just who he was looking at. Holy fuck. The new guy in 32B.

There were people in this world who were attractive, and then there were people who were drop dead gorgeous. And _then_ , above them, was the man who had moved into 32B. He looked like he'd been put on Earth just to torment Porthos with his sheer perfection. Perfect body, wild curls, dark eyes, sinfully sculpted lips that would look as good smirking as they would with a cock between them…

_Fuck_.

No! Porthos was not going to fantasize about his new neighbor while the guy was standing practically naked in the freezing cold.

Oh. Shit. 32B was practically naked in the freezing cold. Already Porthos could see red patches springing up on his cheeks where the unseasonal wind was whipping his face. He was shifting uncomfortably from side to side, arms pressed tight against his chest to keep him warm. Hell, he wasn't even wearing shoes.

With that observation, Porthos's chivalrous instincts kicked in at last. No one else seemed to be paying 32B any mind beyond a couple of lecherous stares, so he wove through the crowd until he stood beside him. This close, he could see the suds starting to dry among the guy's wild curls.

Part of his brain was shouting at him to back off, that this guy was so far out of his league that it was laughable, but the chivalrous part was still the loudest, and that was the part that had him shucking off his warm winter coat with only a moment's hesitation.

"Here," he said abruptly, all ability to make smooth conversation vanishing the second those dark eyes turned his way. "You look bloody freezing."

The dark eyes narrowed in amusement as they looked him over. He suddenly wished he was wearing something other than his threadbare sweats. "What gave you that idea?" The guy's voice was even better than he'd imagined.

Porthos chuckled, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "Your nose is turnin' blue and your hair is freezin' into little points," he said helpfully. "Go on, take it, I'll be fine."

32B looked at him uncertainly. "I don't want you to get cold," he said, though his eyes lingered on the thick down jacket with undisguised longing.

"Go on," Porthos repeated. "I'll be warm enough. You'll freeze your balls off out 'ere."

His brain registered what he'd said a second too late. He flushed, mortified, but the guy just laughed. "And what a shame that would be," he said, eyes glinting with amusement as he accepted the jacket and slid it on. It looked fantastic on him, but then, anything would. "I'm Aramis, by the way. Might as well introduce myself if I'm stealing your jacket."

Porthos stuck out his hand a bit too eagerly. "Porthos," he said, trying not to think about how soft Aramis's palm was. "And you didn't steal it, it was a gift."

Aramis laughed again. The sound was like music. "And a very generous one at that," he said warmly, making a show of burrowing deeper into the jacket. "You're 37A, right?"

"That's right," Porthos said, marveling at the fact that Aramis knew of him at all. Gods weren't supposed to notice the mere mortals below them.

"I've seen you around. Love the uniform," said Aramis, flashing him that brilliant smile.

It took Porthos a moment to process the statement. "Oh, right. Yeah, I work at the precinct downtown."

"Protecting our lives, how noble," Aramis teased, though his expression was utterly sincere. "Are you a knight in shining armor?"

Porthos snorted. "More like a cop in beat up Kevlar." Aramis's expression turned decidedly more interested. "What about you?"

"I work in design," Aramis said, shifting again on the icy sidewalk. His feet were beginning to look blue from the cold.

Without thinking it through, Porthos reached out and tugged on Aramis's elbow, making the smaller man stumble forward until he was standing atop Porthos's thick work boots. He only wanted to get Aramis off the cold ground. He didn't really think about the consequences until they were suddenly chest to chest, wide brown eyes staring into his from only inches away.

"Sorry," he blurted out, letting go of Aramis's arm immediately. "Your feet looked cold."

Aramis laughed. To Porthos's surprise, he made no move to step back. If anything, he leaned more fully against Porthos's chest. "They were," he admitted, smiling softly. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Porthos muttered, hoping his flaming face would be hidden in the darkness. Aramis laughed and continued to tell him all about his job working as a designer at a premier fashion company uptown. Within minute he had Porthos in stitches over the antics of his boss, who had apparently taken to storming about in a full cloak ensemble lined in scarlet and calling in "fashion."

"Do you think the building will burn down?" Aramis asked after a while, glancing back at the apartment. The firemen had arrived a while ago, but there was no smoke in sight.

"I hope not," said Porthos. "I just got a hot new neighbor. I was finally startin' to like living 'ere."

Immediately he wanted to smack himself in the face. Who hit on a guy in a situation like this? He was the worst type of creep.

But Aramis shot him a sly grin. "Oh really? I was thinking maybe this apartment might be nicer than my last one for the same reason."

Porthos's cheeks flamed. It was one thing to hit on a hot guy, but something else entirely for that guy to flirt with him in return. He couldn't actually remember the last time his interest had been returned.

"That so?" he managed, cursing internally when he stammered slightly.

Aramis gave him a blinding smile and his stomach flipped. He'd never seen anyone look at him like that before. He wondered briefly if he'd fallen into an alternate dimension. Maybe this was just the start of a really good porno.

He'd be okay with that.

"Alarm's stopped," Aramis said suddenly, stepping slowly back off Porthos's boots. Porthos looked around in surprise as people began filing back into the apartment complex. He hadn't even noticed.

"Oh," he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. "Guess we'd better head back in, then."

Aramis cocked his head to one side, watching him thoughtfully. "Mm, I'd better finish my shower." He paused, as if making an important decision, and then said, "Since we're both already up, would you like to join me afterwards for a late night drink?"

Porthos blinked at him, uncomprehending. Every circuit in his brain had been suddenly fried by the fact that Aramis, the Greek god sharing his building, wanted to have a drink with _him_.

"Uh," he said eloquently.

Aramis began backing toward the building, grinning at him. "Think about it. You know where to find me," he said with a wink. And then he was gone.

Porthos stood there for a long time, staring after him. There was no one else left outside when he finally came out of his daze, shivering in the cold air. He realized Aramis hadn't returned his jacket, and knew in the same moment that he'd done it on purpose. He grinned to himself and slowly made his way back to his apartment, thinking furiously.

_How long does it take to finish a shower?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written while rather drunk from my first legal drink, so forgive any oddities!
> 
> You can find us on Tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave or comehitherashes. If you go to either of our pages and search 'april writing challenge', you can see the list of prompts we'll be using. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this lovely ficlet!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Which one forgot to get the fucking diapers from the store?
> 
> Sorry for the delay! I have a terrible ear infection, but I've got antibiotics now, so hopefully that will clear up. Tomorrow's might be slightly late as well, but I'll try to get it up on time!
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, idiots with a baby

D'Artagnan was not panicking. He absolutely was not. He was just… hurrying a little more than usual. Yes, that was all. Just hurrying to get home. There was nothing unusual about it. He'd had a long day. He was tired.

It certainly wasn't because he was worried about the fact that he'd left his first and only child in the hands of three men who could be described as "lunatics" on a good day. That wasn't it at all.

It also had nothing to do with the fact that Constance, the light of his life, had left him in charge of their baby daughter to go to France for a three day fashion conference. She had been hesitant to leave with Isabelle barely on formula, but D'Artagnan knew it would do her good to get away for a few days. He had promised over and over again that everything would be fine when she returned, and so far he was making a poor show of it. But he finally had all the supplies they needed in the trunk of his car, so hopefully things would go better from here.

Really, he ought to have made Aramis go for the supplies, or maybe Porthos. It was their fault that the carefully organized pile of baby formula, diapers, and clean clothes Constance had left for him had been drenched by a super soaker full of vodka. He should've known better than to let them come around so close to April Fool's Day. Everything was ruined before he knew it. And he certainly couldn't put Isabelle in clothes and diapers that smelled like alcohol. Constance would never leave him alone with her again.

Which was why he had been forced to drive half an hour to Walmart at midnight to pick up more of the supplies the others had ruined. He'd barely made it out before the store closed, escorted out by a suspicious looking teenage cashier and a sleepy eyed security guard. But at least this way, when Constance returned tomorrow, she would never know that he'd allowed two grown men to play war with vodka super soakers around their baby.  
He hadn't wanted to leave Isabella alone with them tonight after what happened that afternoon. They weren't bad godparents, exactly, but many of their decisions were somewhat questionable, especially if Athos was looking the other way. But D'Artagnan was the only one that knew which brands Constance bought for all their baby care needs, so he had to be the one to go. He just hoped he didn't walk through the door to find the baby on the ceiling fan or swimming in the pool or something like that.

D'Artagnan parked the car in the garage and grabbed the bags from the trunk, nearly overbalancing from the weight. He shoved his way through the door and dropped everything in a pile in front of the hall closet, barely managing to keep himself from dashing through the house to check that his friends hadn't killed his baby girl.

He managed to walk fairly calmly in through the kitchen and out to the living room where he'd left his friends and his child. He found Porthos sprawled out on the couch, snoring gently. Baby toys were scattered across the floor, several stacked carefully atop Porthos himself. There was no one else in the room.

That was fine, though, because surely Aramis had Isabelle. They'd probably gone to the nursery after piling the toys on Porthos. Yes, that was it.

He darted to the nursery a bit more quickly than pride demanded and found Aramis sound asleep in the rocking chair, drool on his chin and a picture book clutched to his chest. There was no baby in his arms.

Now D'Artagnan was beginning to panic. If Isabelle wasn't with Porthos, and she wasn't with Aramis, then Athos must have her, and D'Artagnan had never seen Athos even hold a baby before, let alone be responsible for a tiny human life.

He actually ran through the rest of the house, checking the study and the basement before noticing the door to the master bedroom was ajar. His panic receded slightly as he tried to compose himself, embarrassed to be caught tearing through the house. Cautiously, he peered around the doorframe.

"Ah, you're back," said Athos, his voice very soft. He was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the bedframe. The faint sound of what D'Artagnan thought might be Mozart was drifting from his phone on the nightstand. Isabelle was asleep in his lap, tiny fists clutching Athos's sweater. "Did you get everything?"

"Yeah," D'Artagnan whispered, feeling a bit befuddled by the whole situation. "Uh, Athos, why do you have Isabelle?"

Athos arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure you noticed that the others were somewhat indisposed," he drawled quietly. "I thought it best that your daughter be watched by someone who was at least conscious, if not competent."

"Did you put her to sleep?" asked D'Artagnan suddenly.

"Aramis and Porthos both tried, but they fell asleep before she did, so we retreated here and listened to some soothing music together," Athos said, shrugging slightly.

"Athos, Constance and I can never get her to sleep! You're more than competent, you're a genius!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. In Athos's lap, Isabelle stirred and began to cry.

"Now look what you've done," Athos said sternly. "You woke her up!" D'Artagnan winced and hurried forward to lift his daughter off Athos's lap, gently prying away the tiny hand that tried to cling to Athos's shirt.

"I think her diaper needs to be changed," D'Artagnan said, bouncing Isabelle gently up and down. Her tiny face was screwed up as she bawled. "I left the bags in the hall, can you grab one?"

Athos nodded and vanished into the hallway. D'Artagnan headed for the changing table in the nursery, kicking the rocking chair as he went to wake Aramis when it became clear the screaming baby wasn't doing it. It was too bad he didn't have time to take a picture of Aramis snuggling happily with Isabelle's gnawed on copy of _Goodnight Moon_. That would've made excellent blackmail material.

Aramis came awake with a snort. "Go heat a bottle for her, would you?" he asked as Aramis wiped the drool from his chin. "I want to get her back to bed as soon as I can." Aramis nodded and headed for the kitchen.

He had the dirty diaper off and in the bin by the time Athos appeared in the doorway. "Give it to me, quick," D'Artagnan said, holding out a hand without looking at his friend. He was using his other hand to keep his squirming daughter on the table. When no diaper was given to him, he glanced over. Athos's hands were empty. "Where are the diapers?"

Athos blinked at him. "There weren't any."

D'Artagnan stared. "That's impossible. I know I bought some. I had them in my hands!" Isabelle's shrieking was reaching a fever pitch. There had to be diapers in the bag.

"Well, they aren't there," said Porthos, appearing at Athos's shoulder. "Sorry, pup, I checked too."

"No diapers," D'Artagnan said faintly. Had he left them in the shopping cart? At the register?

"None," said Athos.

"What're we gonna do?" asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan covered his eyes with one hand. "Are there any of the vodka soaked ones left?" he asked hopelessly. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"No," Aramis said, returning from the kitchen with a bottle in one hand and an old kitchen towel in the other. "We threw them all away when you left. But we could use this." He held up the towel.

"You want me to put a dishtowel on my daughter and call it a diaper?" D'Artagnan asked, appalled.

Aramis shrugged. "Do you have a better plan?"

"It might work," Porthos added. "S'absorbent, right?"

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and sent up a prayer to any god that might be watching to please, please let Constance understand. Then he stepped away from the changing table and let Aramis take over.

"C'mon," Porthos said quietly to Athos. "If we're putting the baby in a dish towel, we gotta at least make sure the rest o' the house is perfect before she gets back."

"You're free to blame me for this," Aramis said blithely as the other two vanished, twisting the towel around Isabelle. "I haven't been slapped in a while. Constance might be falling out of practice."

D'Artagnan collapsed onto the rocking chair and buried his face in his hands, refusing to watch what was happening. He was the worst father in history.

When Constance got home the next morning, she found the house spotless, the yard mowed, the fridge full, her husband and his friends passed out in the living room, and her daughter wearing a diaper made out of a dishtowel.

She simply laughed, kissed D'Artagnan on the cheek, and pulled a bag of spare diapers out from under the bathroom sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us on Tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave or comehitherashes. If you go to either of our pages and search 'april writing challenge', you can see the list of prompts we'll be using. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this lovely ficlet!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Star-crossed lovers AU
> 
> Had a hard time coming up with an idea for this one, as I'm still quite sick, so I deviated a bit.
> 
> Tags: Treville/Richelieu

Treville was busy scribbling notes onto a packet of papers when the three of them trooped in. He ignored them at first. They were here to annoy him, he was sure of it, and he wasn't going to indulge them. It wasn't until the fourth finally scurried into the room that he sighed and looked up.

"All here now?' he asked sarcastically. "Ready to begin?"

D'Artagnan shuffled his feet uncomfortably, still a little out of breath. Aramis and Porthos exchanged shifty looks. Athos remained perfectly neutral, as always.

"What is it you want?' Treville asked, hoping whatever it was wouldn't take too long. He wanted to be home by seven.

"We've got news about the D.C. deal," Aramis began.

"And?"

"It fell through," growled Porthos. "The Cardinal fucked us over."

Treville sighed. It could never be just Richelieu to his men, no; it was the _Cardinal_ , as if he were a boogeyman capable of feats beyond mere mortals.

"How?" he asked wearily.

"One of his agents secured the contract before we finished the deal," D'Artagnan said, looking miserable.

"Must've offered twice what we did to get 'em to back out so late in the process," added Porthos. "Sneaky bastard."

"What's done is done," Treville said, sighing. The D.C. deal was always a long shot. They didn't really need it. "Just focus on the Boston deal instead and try not to get too discouraged. You should all head home for the evening."

Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan sighed in unison, turning toward the door. They stopped in the doorway, looking back at Athos, who hadn't moved. Athos glanced back at them and jerked his chin at the door. Expressions of understanding flitted across their faces, accompanied by trepidation from D'Artagnan. Then they filed out, shutting the door behind them.

"Athos. What is it?"

"I've something I thought you should see, sir," Athos said steadily. He pulled a small envelope out of his pocket and passed it across the desk. "Thought you might not be aware it existed, and I wanted to bring it to your attention."

Treville frowned at the enigmatic statement and opened the envelope. An old Polaroid fell into his palm. He stared at it, heart sinking in his chest.

"Is this some kind of terrible blackmail?" he asked archly.

Athos looked affronted. "Of course not, sir!" Treville held up a hand to let him know it had been a joke.

"Why did you bring this to me?"

"Is that Armand Richelieu?" Athos asked quietly.

Treville briefly considered lying. He had sworn to himself none of his employees would ever learn of this. But Athos was too clever to believe the lie.

"Yes," he admitted.

"I see." Athos hesitated a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. "And may I ask, sir, why he is – why the pair of you are… embracing?"

Treville nearly winced at Athos's indelicate phrasing. "It was a long time ago," he said defensively.

Athos nodded. "The picture was dated 1982."

Treville laughed a little bitterly. "Yes, like I said, a long time." He looked down at the faded photograph. "I suppose you want an explanation?"

"I wouldn't presume, sir."

"But those vultures waiting out in my office will murder you if you return without the story, correct?" Athos blinked at him, looking momentarily wrong footed. "I assume you've already told them?"

Athos had the grace to look slightly abashed. "D'Artagnan found the picture at the library. He was too scared to approach you himself."

Treville chuckled. "Of course he was. So he came to you. But I notice he wasn't too scared to steal it from the library. The boy will go far. What was he doing that he managed to find this?"

"I believe he was researching the personal history of the Cardinal, trying to learn more about his strategy and past contracts to better compete with his agents and his company," Athos said, which translated to _the newbie wanted to find a way to kick Richelieu's ass_.

Treville looked up at the ceiling. Armand Richelieu's past was littered with cutthroat deals and shady contracts. "I don't even want to know what else he found." Athos gave him a wan smile, but he was beginning to look impatient. Treville glanced back down at the photo. "Like I said, this was a long time ago. We went to business school together. We might have even lived in the same building, I can't remember now. We had… a lot in common."

"But it didn't last?"

Treville sighed. "Not every story has a happy ending. Things went well for a while. And then I was offered an excellent position at Garrison Inc. Armand never told me he was the heir to a major corporation until I'd already accepted the job. And then he mentioned that he was working for our biggest competition."

"Ah," Athos said. "I take it that did not go over well."

Treville winced at the memory. There had been a lot of yelling. He might have thrown some things. It was a bad week. "No, it did not," he admitted. "And that's about all there is to the story. I can't even remember who took this picture. We kept the whole thing very quiet. It wasn't exactly something you bragged about in those days."

Athos nodded, looking thoughtful. "I understand, sir. Believe me when I say we will not let word of this reach anyone else." He gave Treville a wry smile. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you're, ah, sleeping with the enemy."

Treville shot him an unimpressed look. "I would appreciate that. To that end, I will be keeping this picture. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"No, sir," Athos said, inclining his head. "I'll make sure no more questions are asked. But you might want to check that no other copies of that photograph exist. Good night."

Treville sighed, slipping the picture into his pocket and setting aside his notes. He sat in his office and looked out the window until he was sure Athos and the others had left. Then he headed down to his car. There had been enough excitement for one day. Besides, if he left now, he would only be a few minutes late.

He spent the drive out of the city lost in thought. Aramis had often tried to talk him into moving into the city, but Treville liked the privacy offered by his stately home. He liked privacy in a lot of things. He'd have to stop by the library tomorrow and check for any more photographs that shouldn't still exist.

But that was a worry for tomorrow. He parked the car in the garage and trooped through the house, dropping heavily into his armchair and leaning his head back, eyes closed against the light of the fire.

Soft footsteps approached. "Long day?"

"You could say that," Treville grunted. "Look what someone found today." He pulled out the photograph and passed it over without opening his eyes.

"How dreadful. We look so old compared to this."

"Exactly what I thought," Treville muttered, opening his eyes. Armand was frowning down at the picture. "Hopefully that's the only copy."

"That would be ideal. Who found it?"

"It's fine, they won't breathe a word of it. I let Athos draw his own conclusions about what happened between us. He thinks we broke it off in college."

"How very clever," Armand murmured.

"I thought so. We should probably toss it on the fire, just to be safe."

"Probably," Armand agreed. He stepped toward the fire, but instead of throwing the photograph in, he propped it up on the mantle. When Treville shot him a curious look, he shrugged. "We looked so handsome. It'd be a shame to burn it."

Treville chuckled. "You looked handsome. What on earth was I doing with my hair?"

"It was fashionable then. I liked it."

"You would," Treville teased. "Is the D.C. deal all set?"

"Anne was brilliant. And she'll stay away from the Boston deal, as we agreed."

Treville nodded. It had never been easy to juggle rival companies, but they had their own system for it.

"The bath is already full. Are you coming?" Armand asked, smirking at him.

"Of course."

"Good. There's a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Bring it with you," Armand called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall.

Treville rose from the chair with a groan and went to fetch the bottle. It was an excellent vintage, of course. On his way back, he paused to look at the picture again. He had lied, before: he knew exactly who had taken it. It had been his sister. He had no idea how the library had found it.

Armand was right, though. He did look very handsome in the photo, twined as he was around Treville's then muscular frame. He reached out and shifted it so it sat better atop the mantle before heading to join Armand in the bath.

Some stories did have happy endings.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - We live in halls opposite each other and I keep seeing you changing through your window 
> 
> Gah, apologies again for the lateness! This ear infection will not clear up, it makes it very hard to write. Thank goodness I'm on break right now. I'll try to catch up soon, I promise!
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos was going to be late for class. Again. With a muttered curse about the pouring rain outside, he shoved his books into the bag, yanked an errant notebook from under the bed, and tugged on his jacket. He was turning to the door to leave when something out the window caught his eye.

All thoughts of being late immediately fled his mind.

His room at college was situated a bit strangely. His building was separated from the one next door by only a narrow courtyard, which meant that the windows of each building practically lined up. So if he looked out his window, he could see into the rooms across the courtyard. They could also see into his room, a fact which he kept in mind while getting changed every day. He tried not to look into people's rooms as a general rule, but sometimes he couldn't help but break it.

Like today.

The guy in the room opposite his had just walked through the door, flicking on the light as he entered. Porthos had noticed him several times already, and he was the one exception to his rule about giving people their privacy. But to be honest, it would be impossible not to look. The guy looked like a model. He was the single hottest person Porthos had ever seen in his life.

He knew he shouldn't watch, but the guy had begun stripping off his wet sweatshirt without a glance at the window, and Porthos had never had much self-control.

The guy got the sweatshirt off and immediately pulled off his soaked shirt, revealing gloriously tanned skin and perfectly defined abs. Water dripped from his damp curls and trailed down his chest. He seemed totally unconcerned that anyone could be watching him.

Fuck.

It took Porthos almost a minute to realize he was standing in the center of his bedroom essentially spying on the hot guy in the next building. He knew he had to get to class, but tearing his eyes away from the spectacle outside his window took more willpower than he had right now. He was already practically drooling. It helped that he knew the guy couldn't see into his room unless he turned his light on. He could watch without being watched.

Only when the guy's hands slid down to his belt did Porthos realize how fucking creepy he was being. He tore his eyes away and hurried out of the room, thankful that the guy hadn't seen him being a stalker.

He was definitely going to be late for class. And he was probably going to Hell on top of it.

When he finally got back to his room that night, he glanced eagerly across the courtyard, wondering if the hot guy would be in his room. To his delight, the lights were on once more, giving him a clear view inside. He could see the guy sprawled on his bed, reading a book. He was shirtless again, and his hair had dried back into its normal wild curls.

Porthos shouldn't be enjoying this so much.

He had piles of homework to do, but he could get to it later. Without turning on the lights, he dropped down on his bed and pulled out his sketchpad. It would be hard to draw in the darkness, but it would be worth it. Part of him wondered if sketching his half naked neighbor in the dark without him knowing constituted actual stalking, but he didn't see the harm. He swore to himself he'd look away if the guy ever undressed any further.

That made it okay, right?

Probably not, but Porthos hadn't been with anyone in _ages_ , and damn if he wasn't going to appreciate the view while it lasted. And to be fair, he'd walked around his room shirtless a couple times and seen people next door watching. It hadn't bothered him.

The sketch came out a bit messy, because he was working in the dark, but it was still fantastic. It took far more effort than it should have to eventually pull his shades and turn the light on to do his homework.

Porthos fell asleep over a particularly complicated assignment and wound up rushing again the next morning. He was so late for class that he didn't even have time to open his shades and glance at the guy in the next building. He found himself wondering all day if he'd missed anything especially glorious, and then kicked himself for being such a creep.

He had to stay late at the library that evening to finish an important essay. By the time he got back to his room he was absolutely exhausted. He staggered into his bedroom, flicked on the light, and dropped onto his bed. He didn't even have the energy to open the blinds.

He was just contemplating the amount of shit he'd be in if he just went to bed and skipped his homework when there was a knock at the door. He snatched his phone up to check that no one had texted to say they were coming over, but there were no new messages. Frowning, he rolled off the bed and went to the door, praying the hot guy hadn't noticed him spying and called the C.A. or something. Not that he wouldn't deserve it.

It wasn't the C.A. It was the guy from next door.

Porthos blinked stupidly at him, his brain short circuiting from the guy's proximity. This close, he could see every curl in high definition. He prayed he wasn't drooling.

"Porthos, right?" the guy asked, flashing him an easy smile. He had very white teeth. "That's what it says on your door, anyway."

"Yeah, that's right," Porthos said slowly. "Who are you?"

The guy smiled again, dark eyes alight with mirth. "You know who I am. But if you meant what's my name, then I'm Aramis," he said, a hint of a Spanish accent in his voice.

"There somethin' you need?" Porthos asked nervously, hoping he wasn't about to be told off.

"I just thought I would come over and check that you hadn't fallen ill or met with a terrible accident," he said, smirking. "After all, today was the first day you haven't, ah, checked in on me." He gave Porthos a little wink as he said it.

Porthos flushed, mortified. So Aramis had noticed him looking after all. But…

"How would you know that I haven't looked, unless you've been spyin' on me too?" he asked suspiciously.

Aramis laughed, looking delighted. "Oh, I wouldn't call it spying. Merely… appreciating the view."

Porthos was starting to feel decidedly lost. Was Aramis upset about being spied on? He seemed to find the whole situation humorous. "Still doesn't explain why you're 'ere."

"Doesn't it? I thought I was being fairly obvious when I decided to step up the game." Aramis said coyly. "It was hard work making sure you were always in your room for my little shows."

"You mean you were changing right in front of the window on purpose?" Porthos asked, dumfounded. He hadn't even considered that. Though, in retrospect, it was a bit insulting to think that Aramis wouldn't have noticed that people could see into his room.

Aramis grinned at him. "I had to figure out if you were interested somehow. It was very chivalrous of you to look away before anything more than my shirt came off, by the way. But then today your shades were closed. I thought maybe you'd grown bored of me."

"I don't think that could ever happen," Porthos blurted out, flushing as soon as he realized what he had said.

Aramis smiled, looking thrilled. "In that case, would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow?"

"Coffee?" Porthos asked, finding it difficult to keep up with the conversation.

"Or lunch. Dinner. Anything, really, as long as you accompany me," Aramis said. Outwardly, he still looked perfectly collected, but his eyes betrayed a hint of hopeful excitement.

Porthos's brain finally caught up with what was going on. "You askin' me on a date?" he asked, pleased that it came out as playful teasing rather than disbelief.

"You accepting?"

"Damn right," Porthos said, grinning. "I break for lunch at noon."

"Same here. Starbucks on Main Street?"

"Sounds good."

"Perfect," said Aramis, flashing him that brilliant smile once more. "I'll see you then." He strode off down the hall with a little wave.

Porthos watched him go, aware that he was grinning like a buffoon and not caring in the slightest. He had a date.

An idea stuck him suddenly. He closed the door and hurried to the window, opening the shades and settling quickly on the bed with his sketchpad. He was ready when Aramis walked back into his room.

Aramis shot him a wicked grin as he flopped down on his bed with a textbook. Porthos echoed it, the charcoal already moving across the paper. This would be his best sketch yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - You’re baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3am and I’m angry but also really hungry
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, background OT3 (could be read as gen)

Constance was woken by the sound of pots and pans clanging. It sounded like a herd of elephants was in the kitchen. For a long moment, she lay in bed, wishing it really was a herd of elephants instead of the inevitable drunk college student.

She cursed her decision to be the Head Resident in a freshmen dorm as she swung herself out of bed. The others had warned her she would be driven mad, but she'd wanted the responsibility and hadn't wanted to let them talk her into moving off campus with them. The clock told her it was just past 3 AM. Quiet hours had started at midnight. She was going to unleash the wrath of an overworked college junior on this unsuspecting idiot.

Constance opened her door and strode out into the hallway. The kitchen was above her room, up on the second floor, so if she could hear the noise even from the H.R. suite, then it was far too loud. They'd just got back from break, for god's sake. Everyone should be frantically finishing the work they'd ignored all vacation or making the most of their last full night of rest, not making a clamor in the kitchen at unholy hours.

She stormed up the stairs, growing more indignant with every step. Some people just had no consideration for other people. This jerk was waking up the entire floor, and did they care? Honestly, sometimes she wished her job description allowed her to do more than just write people up. Some of them deserved a good slap.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen, mouth open to deliver a scathing reprimand, and found herself face to face with a pair of enormous brown eyes blinking back at her from a face so coated with flour she couldn't make out any other features. Her words died in her throat.

"Oh. Hi. Was I being too loud?" the floury figure said sheepishly.

"You're covered in flour," said Constance, still working around the initial shock.

"Am I?" The figure raised one hand to swipe at its face, revealing tan skin. Flour was still streaked across the boy's face and splattered throughout his dark hair, but at least Constance could recognize him now.

"D'Artagnan, right?" she asked. She'd met all the students in the building at least once, but she only knew a few of them well. D'Artagnan was a midyear freshman, which meant this was still his first semester. He seemed a bit less idiotic than some of her freshmen. And since she'd never had to write him up for anything before, she supposed she could afford to cut him some slack.

"That's right." He looked positively miserable under his coating of flour. "I didn't mean to wake anyone. Sorry, Constance."

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Constance asked, looking around in concern. The kitchen was a disaster. Flour covered the counters, and chocolate chips had taken over the floor. A tray of sad looking cookies sat on the table.

"Baking chocolate chip cookies," D'Artagnan said, shuffling his feet. They left little trails in the flour on the floor.

"And why are you baking cookies at 3 AM?" He didn't look drunk or stoned, which was a relief. Constance prayed he had a good reason for his insanity.

D'Artagnan was watching her with an expression like a deer caught in headlights. "Because I bake cookies every year on this day."

"And why is that?" Constance asked patiently, beginning to feel like she was talking to a young child.

"Because it's my dad's special recipe, and this was his birthday."

The way D'Artagnan's voice caught on _was_ told Constance all she needed to know. "Okay," she said at last, swallowing the sudden lump that had formed in her throat. "Looks like you're having a bit of trouble."

"I've never cooked anywhere but home before," D'Artagnan said miserably. "I'm not used to this kitchen. I had to buy supplies from the supermarket, and then I tripped over a chair when I was measuring the flour, and the bag of chocolate chips spilled, and I think I might have forgotten part of the recipe because the first batch didn't come out right, and-"

"That's enough," Constance said. D'Artagnan froze. "If we're going to get these finished by morning, then we'd better get to work."

D'Artagnan stared at her in surprise. "You're going to help me?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I'm up now," Constance said with a shrug. "Might as well make sure you don't wake up the whole building."

She made the mistake of glancing at D'Artagnan and almost staggered back from the sheer happiness shining in his eyes. Aramis had asked if any of her housemates were attractive. She might've lied when she'd said no. She was suddenly very aware that she was wearing a ratty sweatshirt she'd stolen from Porthos and bunny pajama bottoms.

"Where's this recipe, then?" she asked to cover her momentary loss of composure.

D'Artagnan looked suddenly sheepish again. "It's, uh, it's in my head."

Constance laughed. "No wonder you can't remember it. Then just tell me what you did for the first batch."

D'Artagnan quickly listed off the steps in the recipe. Constance listened closely, eyeing the failed cookies on the table. "Wait," she said, interrupting D'Artagnan. "Did you remember to put in the eggs?"  
A look of horrified comprehension crossed his face. "No! No, no, no, I forgot the eggs!"

Constance winced. "There aren't any in the fridge?" she asked hopelessly.

D'Artagnan shook his head, looking utterly dejected. "The fridge just has a gallon of milk and some ice cream."

"Alright, wait here," she said heavily. "I'll go find some. Try and get some of this cleaned up while I'm gone."

D'Artagnan nodded and began clearing the chocolate chips off the floor while Constance headed back down to her bedroom. She knew there were no eggs in her suite, but she had a pretty good idea of where to get them. Sighing, she pressed the speed dial on her phone.

"I need eggs," she said as soon as it connected. "No questions."

"What do I get if I bring you eggs?" Aramis asked, sounding delighted.

"Nothing."

"Well, that's no – Athos, give it back!"

"Hello Constance. What was it you needed?" Athos asked, speaking loudly to drown out the sounds of Aramis trying to get his phone back in the background.

"Just some eggs, Athos."

"I'll check if we have any. One moment." She heard him set the phone down. From the sound filtering through the phone, Porthos had stepped in to keep Aramis back.

"Constance? We have a whole carton. Porthos says he doesn't mind running them over."

"Thank you," Constance said gratefully, ignoring Aramis's cries of 'She called me!' in the background.

"Of course. Goodnight." Athos ended the call. Constance allowed herself a moment to laugh at the absurdity of Athos taking grocery orders. It was nice having friends who lived in an apartment off campus and kept ridiculous hours.

She spent the time until Porthos arrived talking herself down from changing into something more presentable. She finally settled on simply twisting her sleep-messed hair back into a ponytail and swapping the gigantic sweatshirt out for a normal sized sweater.

Once Porthos arrived and gave her the eggs (along with a completely unnecessary wink), Constance headed back up to the kitchen. D'Artagnan was sitting on the table in the middle of the now spotless kitchen, swinging his legs against the floor and looking a bit lost.

"You got them!" he cried as soon as she entered, snatching the eggs from her hands. "Oh, thank you!" He set them on the counter and whirled around, catching her in a hug.

"You're welcome," Constance said a bit giddily. "Sorry it took so long."

"That's fine. I'm just glad I can still make them," D'Artagnan said. "Did you still want to help?" He was watching her uncertainly.

"Yes, I do," Constance said. She was unable to resist smiling back when D'Artagnan beamed at her.

Between the pair of them, they were able to whip up D'Artagnan's recipe in no time. Constance slid them into the oven and leaned back against the counter, feeling inexplicably happy.

"We did it!" D'Artagnan said, grinning.

"We did," Constance agreed. "And we didn't wake anyone else up!"

"I really am sorry about that," D'Artagnan said. "You can go back to sleep now if you want."

"Oh. Right." Constance really didn't want to leave, but she couldn't think of a good reason to stay, either.

"Or you could wait until the cookies are done," D'Artagnan said quickly. "I mean, after all your help, you deserve half of them, right?" He sat down at the table and gave her a hopeful look.

"Well, I suppose I am already up," Constance said. D'Artagnan's smile was like sunshine. And if they stayed up the rest of the night talking and eating far too many cookies, well, that was nobody's business but their own.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - Person A loses a bet to Person B, so they have to be handcuffed together for the entire day. (Bonus: This should be funnier with a Person C.)
> 
> Not sure what happened with this one, it got away from me a bit and I'm not at all confident of the final product. But hey, finished a bit earlier at least!
> 
> Tags: Athos/Aramis, brief mention of OT3

"This is misuse of police equipment," Athos muttered darkly. Porthos ignored him. He was entirely too happy about this.

"Aramis, s' your turn," he called.

Aramis wandered over and sat next to Athos. He extended his left wrist with a winning smile.

"Do we have to?" Athos asked. Aramis shot him a hurt look.

"Why, Athos, one might think you don't enjoy my company!"

"You're gonna hurt his feelings, love," Porthos chuckled. He snapped the second handcuff around Aramis's wrist, binding him to Athos. Like with Athos, he was careful to keep the cuff loose and over the sleeve of Aramis's shirt, so that it wouldn't chafe. "Besides, you two lost the bet, and we said the winner picks the punishment."

Athos glared at Aramis, who was still grinning. "I think this is only a punishment for one of us," he muttered. "Why'd you leave his dominant hand free?"

"Cuz Aramis has things to do today," Porthos said, smirking. Before Athos could ask what he meant by that, Porthos stood up. "Right, I'm off. Think you two can keep out of trouble?"  
"If we must," Athos growled, at the same time as Aramis said, "Of course, _querido_."

Porthos grinned at them. "Good. Pup's got the spare key if you get yourselves stuck somewhere, and he promised he'll be 'ome all day. But don't go tryin' to talk him into lettin' you go early, he's sworn to uphold the terms of the bet."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Athos drawled, cursing internally. He let Porthos kiss him goodbye despite his irritation, though he refused to respond whatsoever. Aramis, of course, responded so enthusiastically that he nearly dragged Athos along when Porthos finally backed away.

As soon as Porthos left, Athos shook his wrist gently. The handcuff didn't miraculously open. Shame. He glanced around their apartment. Normally, spending a day with Aramis all to himself was an enticing thought. But when he was being forced to stay with feet of him, when the aspect of choice was removed, it became a daunting prospect.

"I suppose we'll have to find some way to make the most of it," Athos said at last, letting some heat tinge his words. He was already running through various positions in his mind. Let Porthos think he'd damned them to a day of boredom. They would show him. They would pay him back for his stupid idea. "I'm sure there's still plenty we can do."

"Athos, we can't," Aramis said, looking thoroughly disappointed. "My niece Sophie's birthday is tomorrow. I still need to go to the mall and get her a present!"

"Porthos knew about this, didn't he?" Athos asked suspiciously. Aramis nodded.

"If we get it done quickly, there will still be time for other activities," Aramis said, winking outrageously.

Athos rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny that it was a tempting offer. "Wait," he said suddenly, heart sinking. "If you need to go to the mall, that means we need to leave the apartment."

"Yes," Aramis said patiently.  
"Go out in public."

"Yes."

"In _handcuffs_."

"Yes, Athos."

"Can't you just give her money?"

"Athos, she's five! I know it's not ideal, _mon cher_ , but I did promise," said Aramis apologetically. When Athos continued to glare at him, he added, "I swear I'll make it up to you."

Athos briefly considered the merits of simply sitting on the floor and making Aramis drag him out of the apartment before abandoning the idea. "Fine," he sighed, resigning himself to his fate. "Let's just get this over with."

As neither of them could safely drive, they were forced to take a taxi to the mall. The driver eyed them suspiciously when they got in, but within seconds Aramis had turned on the charm, and the pair of them chatted away for the duration of the ride. Athos sulked against the window. The handcuff was already getting itchy.

The mall was worse. It was crowded for a Tuesday and no amount of Aramis's smiles could stop the funny looks they got from the passersby. It was clear that they looked like freaks. Holding hands helped hide the handcuffs, but it also encouraged Aramis to get far too affectionate in a public place. Aramis had always taken hand holding as an open invitation to publically indecent cuddling. Athos wound up storming through the mall glaring at everyone who walked by with Aramis draped along his side, grinning like a fool. There was no way to win.

"Is this the toy store?" Athos growled, stopping at last. The store in front of him was full of children, and he could see stuffed toys lining the walls.

Aramis's eyes widened and he grinned wickedly. "Why, yes, it is!" he said quickly, tugging Athos into the store. By the time he realized Aramis was lying, they were already in.

Teddy bears and soft toys sat on a shelf in front of them. Aramis was excitedly going through the bins, pulling out what looked to be terrifying, deflated versions of the stuffed animals. Every motion made Athos's wrist jerk in response.

"Aramis…?" Athos said uncertainly, looking around. There were far too many children in here. A sign on the wall said Build-A-Bear Workshop.

"This one is perfect!" Aramis cried. He was holding what looked like a flattened rainbow unicorn.

"Let's just get it and go," Athos muttered. He wanted to go home, away from the alarmed looks that parents kept shooting their way. Aramis was moving too fast to keep the handcuffs hidden.

Aramis led the way to a strange looking machine. Athos watched with mild horror as the flattened creature was forcibly stuffed with fluffy bits until it resembled a normal animal once more. Children actually enjoyed this.

He had a feeling Aramis would have happily stood there and gone through the entire satanic oath or whatever it was the shop girl had all the children reciting, so he grabbed the weird stuffed heart out of her hand and shoved it in the unicorn. She gave him an insulted look but sewed it shut regardless.

Unfortunately, his display had shown the handcuffs to all the surrounding children. They descended like a crowd of over-excited vultures. He fended them off with the unicorn and let Aramis answer their questions, dragging him forcibly away before he got them embroiled in a game of 'cops and robbers.'

"Can we go home now?" he asked desperately once they were clear of the crowd.

Aramis gave him a sympathetic look. "Almost. We just need to pick an outfit for it. And a name."

Athos reached over and tore a miniature costume off the wall. "This one."

Aramis was obviously trying not to laugh. "Athos, that's a doctor costume."

"So?"

"Sophie is terrified of the doctor's office. I am giving her a toy, not an object to fuel her nightmares."

Athos sighed and scanned the rest of the rack. "This one, then," he said decisively, tossing Aramis the outfit.

"Why this one?"

Athos glared. "Because even I know that every child in the country is obsessed with that damn movie right now. Buy the Elsa dress and let's go."

"Oooh!" Aramis cried, looking delighted. "You even know her name!"

"If we do not leave now, I will never watch another Disney movie with you again," Athos threatened. Aramis held up his hands in surrender and headed for the registers, tugging Athos along by their handcuffed wrists. Athos sighed, privately relieved that Aramis hadn't called his bluff. Of course he wasn't going to stop watching Disney movies.

Aramis had to confiscate the giant box they'd put the doll in from him on the way back through the mall. Athos kept trying to swing it at people who looked the wrong way at their handcuffed wrists.

By the time they finally made it home, all thoughts of sex had vanished from his mind. He pulled Aramis straight to the couch and dropped heavily onto it, utterly exhausted. Aramis laughed softly and curled up against his side, twisting their handcuffs hands between them.

"Thank you for accompanying me," he murmured, pressing his face against Athos's neck.

"Not like I had much choice," Athos said. "But you're welcome."

"I think you were right earlier when you said this was only a punishment for you," said Aramis. Athos glanced over quickly to make sure he didn't seem hurt, but he was grinning. "So I've been thinking of ways we can pay him back."

Athos sat up straighter. "I'm listening."

"I was thinking I'll call Sophie tonight and tell her that Uncle Porthos wants to play the horsey game with all her friends tomorrow," Aramis said, grinning wickedly.

"That would be terribly cruel," Athos said. "Since it's her party, clearly he should play the horsey game and the airplane game."

The door opened behind them. They both turned to see Porthos walk into the apartment.

"So, how'd it… why are you looking at me like that?"

Athos dropped his head back against the cushions and laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - Grocery shopping
> 
> Tags: Hinted Portamis, but could be read as gen/any pairing

"Right, we're 'ere. Remember, we only need enough to last us a week," Porthos said as he pushed the cart through the automatic doors. The grocery store was crowded for a Wednesday, and already Aramis and D'Artagnan looked ready to bolt off into the aisles.

Normally Porthos did the shopping alone, not because he didn't trust the others to buy the right things, but because he didn't trust the others not to come back with a thousand things they absolutely didn't need. Last time Aramis had done it, he'd come back with three cakes and half a dozen live lobsters.

But the others had insisted on coming today, and Porthos didn't have the heart to say no.

"So we can't buy all the Easter candy that's on sale? What did we even bother coming for then?" D'Artagnan asked, looking horrified.

"I didn't say that – Aramis, put those balloons back." Aramis looked around guiltily and clipped the balloons back onto their display.

"I was just looking," he protested.

Porthos sighed. "Go and pick out some fruit, would ya? You're always sayin' I don't get the right stuff."

Aramis was off like a shot. Porthos turned around to give D'Artagnan instructions as well only to find the boy had vanished. "Where'd he go?" he demanded of Athos, who was still standing sullenly by the cart. Athos shrugged.

Athos had not wanted to accompany them to the store. He'd been all but forced into the car by a combination of Aramis's best pleading and D'Artagnan's puppy eyes. Athos had never been a fan of any store that didn't sell alcohol. People were already giving their cart a wide berth as a result of his furious glares.

"Don't suppose you want to fetch the milk and butter and things?" Porthos asked hopelessly.

Athos sighed as if Porthos had asked him to slay the Nemean Lion. "If I must," he said heavily, wandering off towards the diary section.

Satisfied at least some of the tasks would get done, Porthos made his way to the cereal section, careful to grab at least one box of everyone's favorite and a box of Cheerios as a backup. Last time D'Artagnan ran out of Lucky Charms, he'd eaten Aramis's Frosted Flakes and all hell had broken loose.

D'Artagnan found him a few minutes later in the pasta section. He was carrying no less than six boxes of Pop-Tarts.

Porthos took one look at him and said, "No."

"But Porthos, they're on sale!" D'Artagnan cried.

"I don't care," Porthos growled. "We still don't need six of 'em!"

D'Artagnan's lower lip jutted out pathetically as he shifted into his puppy eyes. "Pleeeeaaase," he whined.

"No. You c'n have two boxes."

"Fine," D'Artagnan said dejectedly, tossing two of the boxes into the cart. Then he was gone again.

Porthos sighed and carried on to the juice aisle. He was debating which flavor to buy when Aramis appeared and tossed something in the cart. He almost made it out of the aisle before Porthos saw what it was.

"Aramis… why do we need chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs?"

Aramis turned back, a winning smile on his face. "Because they're made with real white meat!" he declared.

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And where's the fruit?"

"I, uh, couldn't find it?" Aramis said.

"We can get the damn dinosaurs if you go and get at least three different kinds of fruit," Porthos said sternly.

"If I get four can I get the dinosaur egg oatmeal too?" Aramis asked excitedly.

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, you can-" he started, but Aramis was already gone.

He managed to get most of what was on his list without seeing any of the others again. Aramis caught up with him just before the dairy section, bearing an armful of various fruits and looking extremely proud of himself. Porthos didn't have the heart to remind him that D'Artagnan was allergic to three of them, so he put them all in the cart and vowed not to let the lad near them.

"Where's Athos?" Aramis asked, hopping up to stand on the other end of the cart. Porthos glared at him, but Aramis didn't get off, so he just kept pushing.

"I sent 'im down here for the milk and stuff but he never came back."

"Should I go find him?"

Porthos shook his head. "I just found you, you stay put. No, we don't need any whipped cream, what'd you grab that for?"

Aramis winked outrageously at him. "We need it for later."

Porthos prayed for patience. "Just get some butter and milk and yoghurt, okay? We gotta get home."

"Pup's coming," Aramis announced. Porthos turned to find D'Artagnan staggering toward them, arms full of ice cream cartons.

"No. Just no," Porthos growled. "We don't need any ice cream."

"But you've already got whipped cream!" D'Artagnan pointed out triumphantly. "So we need at least three." Aramis reached over and snatched three cartons out of the boy's hands, dropping them happily in the cart.

"That's it, we're leaving," Porthos growled, pushing the cart toward the checkout lines. "Come on, start unloading."

Aramis and D'Artagnan began pulling items out of the cart and piling them on the belt. He noticed they weren't even bothering the put the bread and softer items in the back, but he let it go. Porthos turned away, scanning the store.

"Where the hell is Athos?" he muttered, not liking the idea of sending the others to look for him. Who knew what they would come back with this time?

"I thought I saw him leave," D'Artagnan said from behind him.

Porthos whipped around. "Leave? Where would he even go?" he asked. D'Artagnan shrugged.

With a sinking feeling, Porthos glanced out the big windows in the front of the store, hoping he was wrong.

Sure enough, there was a liquor store across the street.

Porthos leaned over to rest his head on handle of the grocery cart, feeling utterly exhausted. From now on, he shopped alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - Accidentally swapped phones with someone at a party and don’t realize until their mom calls in the morning and you spend like three hours talking to this hilarious woman about life and when you go to her house to return her kid’s phone wow the kid is the really good kisser from the party last night au
> 
> This prompt was interrupted when I went to get my second tattoo, so I apologize if it flows weirdly!
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Blaring music sounding in his ear at an inhuman hour woke Porthos from a deep sleep. He woke with a snarled curse, grabbing for his phone to turn off the infernal alarm he couldn't remember setting. He somehow managed to turn the damned song off only to realize it wasn't an alarm, but a phone call. He blinked stupidly at the too bright screen for a moment before he remembered he ought to answer it.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the phone, still dazed from his abrupt awakening.

A stream of Spanish flooded into his ear. He jerked back from his phone in surprise. He was about to tell the lady on the other end that she had the wrong number when his eyes finally focused on the caller ID. It said Mamá.

Shit. She didn't have the wrong number. He had the wrong phone.

"Hey, uh, sorry, I don't think I'm the guy you're looking for," Porthos said awkwardly, cutting off the Spanish. "I, uh, I might have the wrong phone."

There was a long moment of silence, and then the woman laughed warmly. "Ah, I wondered why Aramis hadn't interrupted me yet," she said, switching to English. "He only left for the store a few minutes ago, I thought I could catch him I time to ask him to bring home some things from the store."

Porthos noticed the woman had a very friendly voice and breathed a sigh of relief. He tried to place the name Aramis from the party last night, but beyond the one guy he'd been making out with for most of the night, he hadn't really met anyone. And that guy hadn't exactly stopped to introduce himself.

Not that Porthos was complaining.

"So, who am I talking to?" the woman asked.

"I'm Porthos. Think we must've mixed up phones at the party last night."

The woman laughed. "Yes, that sounds like my son. This isn't the first time this has happened. I'm Camilla d'Herblay."

"Nice to meet you," Porthos said, manners kicking in at last. "I'm real sorry about the confusion, Ms. d'Herblay."

"Oh, not at all," she said. "And please, just Camilla. So, was it a good party?"

"What?" Porthos asked, slightly thrown.

Camilla chuckled. "For phones to get lost, it must have been good. Aramis tells me nothing of his parties. He forgets I was young once! So, was it good?"

Porthos hesitated. It seemed crass to tell someone's mother he spent the entire party with his tongue down the throat of the most attractive guy he'd ever met and then forgotten to get his name. "Uh, yeah, it was good. Good music."

"Ahhh," Camilla said knowingly. "You met someone. Pretty girl? Or pretty boy?"

Porthos knew that telling some random lady about his love life was probably considered weird, but for some reason, he really wanted to. He didn't exactly have a mother to ask him these questions and embarrass the hell out of him, so why not let someone else's do it?

"Boy," he said at last.

"I knew it!" Camilla said happily. "What was his name?"

"I dunno," Porthos admitted. "Didn't get a chance to ask."

"Oh, that is a tragedy, _hijo_ ," Camilla said. Porthos grunted in agreement, taking a sip from the glass of water next to his bed. "I am sure you will meet again. And if not... well, I am sure my son would love to meet you."

Porthos nearly spat out his water. "You tryin' to set me up?" he asked weakly. "You don't anythin' about me!"

"Nonsense," Camilla said sternly. "You have a kind voice, and you've indulged an old woman's curiosity. You must be a good man, so you would be good for my son!"

Porthos couldn't help but laugh at the logic. "Yeah, if you say so. I ain't exactly looking right now, though."

Not that it stopped him from listening to Camilla tell him all about her son. He had to admit, he did sound pretty spectacular. From there, the conversation switched to Porthos's family, or lack thereof. He found himself telling Camilla things he hadn't told anyone about in a very long time. She had so many hilarious stories. Before he knew it, nearly two hours had passed.

"Alright, you've convinced me, someday I'll try skydivin'," he said, laughing. "I gotta get some breakfast now, but if you gimme your address I'll drop the phone off after."

"321 Beechwood Drive." It wouldn't take Porthos too long to get there, then. "What are you having for breakfast?" Camilla asked.

"Oh, I dunno. Probably just cereal."

"What? No, that's not acceptable, you will come and have breakfast here!" Camilla said immediately. "I am making Santa Fe omelettes and I will not take no for an answer!"

Porthos had already learned not to argue with this woman, so he simply said, "Alright then," and promised to be there soon. He dressed in a hurry and headed out to his car, pausing only to admire the handsome fleur-de-lis case on the cell phone.

He spent the drive over mentally berating himself for imposing on this lovely woman and simultaneously trying not to get excited about the prospect of a home cooked breakfast. It had been a long time since he'd had a meal that wasn't cereal or ramen. Maybe since before he'd even graduated college.

He pulled into the driveway of a pretty little house with ivy climbing up one side. The lawn was perfect but the flower bushes were making a bid for freedom in the front bed. To Porthos, who'd never lived outside of the city before, it looked a bit like heaven.

He got out of the car and made his way to the front door, feeling a bit nervous as he rang the doorbell. He'd never wanted someone else's mother to like him so much before.

A smiling woman answered the door, her grey-streaked hair braided to one side. She was wearing a floral apron and beaming at him.

"Porthos! It's so nice to meet you in person!" Camilla exclaimed, pulling him through the door before he had a chance to speak. "My son is just finishing up the omelettes, so you're right on time! Please, leave your coat and shoes, the kitchen's right through here!"

Porthos followed mutely, not used to such open affection. Camilla led him through to a cozy dining room and pointed him toward a chair. The table was already laden with bread and orange juice.

"My daughters won't be joining us this morning, they ate hours ago, but Aramis is a late sleeper, so he'll eat with us," Camilla said happily, sitting down beside him. Porthos poured himself a cup of juice and listened to her chat, feeling oddly peaceful.

Of course, that couldn't last. "Ah, here he is!" Camilla said suddenly. Porthos looked around and nearly spit out his juice when the hot guy from the party last night walked in balancing three plates.

Though that was nothing compared to Aramis's reaction. Only Porthos's quick reflexes saved one of the plates from crashing to the floor as he stumbled, eyes wide.

"Aramis, this is Porthos," Camilla said, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Porthos, I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you earlier when I said Aramis never tells me about his parties. He told me everything about last night, and he knew who had his phone, so I simply had to invite you over for breakfast."

"Mamá, you promised you would stop setting me up with strangers," Aramis hissed, looking utterly mortified. Porthos was willing to bet that his own face was just as red.

"Nonsense, he's not a stranger! You met last night, I'm just making sure you get introduced properly is all!" Camilla said sagely. "Now sit down so we can all eat breakfast."

Aramis sat down across from Porthos, still looking rather red, and passed him a plate. He was studiously avoiding eye contact. Unsure of what else to do, Porthos dug into the omelette.

"This is delicious," he exclaimed, realizing suddenly how hungry he was. "Did you make this?"

Aramis's eyes shot up to meet his at last. "Yes," he said, smiling slightly. "It's Mamá's secret recipe."

"S' fantastic," Porthos mumbled, his mouth full. He swallowed, remembering his manners, and said, "Oh, here's your phone. Sorry about the swap."

"I have yours too. I think I left it in the kitchen."

"I'll get it," Camilla said. "You boys stay here and get to know each other."

"Mamá…" Aramis muttered, sending her a long-suffering look. She ignored him and bustled out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, Aramis grinned hugely at him. "I have to be honest with you, Porthos. I switched our phones on purpose. I knew Mamá would do the rest."

Porthos snorted into his orange juice. By the time Camilla returned, they were talking animatedly. Neither noticed that she left Porthos's phone and the table and slipped away, a knowing smile on her face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - Imagine Person A of your OTP in art school. One day in class Person A has to draw a nude model. Person B is the model.
> 
> Tags: Portamis

This was not a good day for Porthos to be late to class. He'd had his calendar marked all week to remind him that today they were sketching nude models, because he really hadn't wanted to be the guy that came charging into class to find a naked model already posing. He might die of embarrassment.

He pushed through the doors of the building and flew up the stairs. Halfway up he stole a look at his watch. Shit. Maybe he should fall down the stairs now and give himself a medical excuse to miss class. It was probably worth a broken leg to avoid utter humiliation.

With a muttered curse he ran faster. Maybe the model was late. Maybe the professor was still talking. He could still be okay.

He barreled through the door with more force than he'd meant to. The heavy wood thumped against the wall, drawing all eyes briefly in his direction.

Including those of the guy standing in the center of the classroom without any clothes on. Porthos froze. His brain no longer seemed to be working properly. Half his thoughts were screaming at him to turn tail and flee, and the other half were a single, drawn out gasp of appreciation.

The model was _gorgeous_.

Their professor had never said if their model was going to be male or female, and Porthos hadn't thought to ask. It wasn't about the model, it was about improving his skills and getting some practice.

Now he wished he'd asked sooner.

The model was still watching him, and he realized that he hadn't moved from the doorway. Flushing crimson with mortification, he hurried into the room and found an empty seat far closer to the model than he would've liked. His professor was sending him dark looks, but he ignored them in favor of pulling out his supplies as noiselessly as possible. In the silent room, however, he sounded like a hurricane. He could feel annoyed glances from his classmates searing his skin.

At last he had everything he needed. He sank down in his chair, hiding behind his sketchbook, and steeled himself. He was going to have to look up eventually. He couldn't sketch the model if he never looked at him. With an inaudible sigh, Porthos looked up.

And immediately back down again. Shit, the guy was looking at him. Porthos had intentionally chosen a spot where the model couldn't see him without turning his head, which meant the guy had broken his pose to look at him.

Hesitantly, he glanced up again. The dark eyes were no longer staring directly at him but instead rested somewhere to his left. But the slight smirk told Porthos the model had only looked away to give him a chance to get his bearings.

Well, if that's how he wanted to play it, Porthos would oblige.

Taking a deep breath, he began to sketch. He did his best to think objectively, as an artist rather than a guy who'd been single for far too long, but he still found himself getting continually distracted. The guy was built like Adonis, all tan skin and lean muscle. Porthos couldn't even look at his face. It was like staring at the sun. At one point he got lost in the model's dark curls for several minutes before he noticed the guy watching him, a sly smile on his face.

Porthos jerked his gaze downwards, cheeks burning anew, and realized he'd made a terrible mistake. He should have sat _behind_ the model.

He didn't realize he was staring blatantly until he heard a muffled laugh. He tore his eyes away, feeling positively indecent. From the center of the room, he heard the model continue to chuckle wickedly.

Frantically, Porthos tried to slow his heartrate. The last thing he needed was to get a hard on in the middle of class. When he finally calmed down, he looked up, ready to start working properly, and the guy actually winked at him.

Enough was enough. Porthos looked away stubbornly, refusing to play this game any longer. He had work to do, and no model, no matter how hot, was going to distract him.

With renewed resolve, he turned his attention back to the paper. The image of the model was already burned in his brain, so he began to sketch without looking up, glancing up for brief seconds only when he needed to check the position. He tried to ignore the way the guy looked rather put out and hoped his professor wouldn't notice that regions like the face were filled in with less detail. He just couldn't look the guy in the eyes again. He might spontaneously combust.

Somehow, he made it through the class. He was almost finished with his sketch when the professor announced that they could take them home to do the finishing touches and turn them in tomorrow. Porthos resolutely did not look up when the professor dismissed the model and he headed back behind the screen to change. He shoved his things in his bag, ready to flee as soon as his classmates cleared the way.

"I'll need a word with you about your tardiness, Du Vallon," the professor called over the din, foiling Porthos's escape attempt. He sighed and followed the teacher down the hall to his office. He spent the next ten minutes apologizing for being late (again) and swearing up and down to be on time the next day. He hurried out into the hallway when he was finally released, wanting nothing more than to go back to his apartment and hide under his covers and pretend today had never happened.

Naturally, the universe had other plans.

"Hello there."

Porthos froze. The voice was unfamiliar, but he knew exactly who it was. He turned his head to find the model lounging against the wall. He looked somehow more attractive fully clothed, his tan leather jacket complementing his dark curls.

"Listen, I'm sorry if I was creepy, okay?" Porthos said desperately. "But I gotta be somewhere, and-"

"Creepy?" the guy asked, laughing. "If anyone should apologize for that, it's me. But you seemed to be enjoying yourself, so I'm not really sorry."

"I knew you were doin' it on purpose!" Porthos exclaimed.

The guy ducked his head, laughing softly. "Guilty as charged," he murmured. "I'm Aramis."

Porthos shook his hand, trying to ignore the feeling that he ought to kiss it instead. "Porthos."

"Nice to meet you, Porthos," Aramis purred. "Never had anyone brave enough to ignore me before when I model."

"You do that a lot?" Porthos asked. The thought made him unaccountably jealous.

Aramis shrugged. "Once in a while. It can be fun."

"I don't think I'd like bein' on display like that," Porthos said, shuddering.

Aramis deliberately looked him up and down. "No? Pity, you'd make a fine model."

Porthos chuckled. "Yeah, maybe I'd do it for you. Fair's fair and all."

"Unfortunately, I am no artist," Aramis sighed, looking as if he really were disappointed. "I make an excellent Muse, though."

"No kidding," Porthos said. It had been ages since he'd flirted with anyone, but he was falling back into it more easily than he'd expected. "Bet Michelangelo would've loved to sculpt you."

Aramis preened under the praise. "Can I see your sketch?" he asked hopefully. "Everyone always runs off before I can see if they did me justice."

"They'd have to be shitty artists indeed if the sketches came out bad. Model like you oughta improve the quality all around," Porthos said, grinning.

Aramis laughed. "Charmer," he teased. "So can I see it?"

Porthos hesitated, worried that Aramis wouldn't like it. But he felt he'd done a reasonably good job, considering the many distractions, so he said, "Yeah, okay."

He slung his backpack off his shoulder and dug out his sketchbook, passing it to Aramis. He flipped through it, pausing at a few of the drawings, until he came to the newest one.

"It's not my best work," Porthos said nervously. "But I was a bit distracted, so-"

"I love it," Aramis said softly. He was smiling. "I've never seen a drawing of myself before. But why don't I have eyes?"

Porthos laughed sheepishly. "Ah. That's 'cause you kept distracting me every time I made eye contact. I couldn't get 'em right without lookin', but I couldn't look without forgettin' what I was meant to be doing."

"I see," Aramis said, looking rather pleased with himself. "In that case, to make up for my appalling behavior, perhaps I should offer you a private session."

"What do you- oh," Porthos said, his brain catching up a little late. "Well, I could always use the practice.

"Perhaps we could discuss the details over coffee," said Aramis.

"Sounds perfect," Porthos said, following him down the stairs. Now all he had to do was think of a way to tell his roommate Athos that a naked man was going to come stand in their living room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - Rival superheroes who are trying to protect the same small city 
> 
> Went a bit overboard on this one. I got too exicted and wrote waaaayyyy too much and then had to cut back. I swear, I could've made a multi-chapter fic out of this one. Sigh.
> 
> Tags: Athos/Porthos, Porthos/Aramis, implied OT3

If anyone asked what Athos was doing on the roof, he wouldn't have a good excuse. It wasn't like he could tell them he was quietly keeping watch over the city. Though the infernal mask that Constance had insisted was necessary was probably a dead giveaway.

Athos sighed, sinking deeper into the shadows. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home, in his own big city, where there was always some idiotic criminal to foil. He knew the streets there, and the cops knew to stay out of his way.

Athos hated being away. He knew D'Artagnan was going to destroy the city in his absence. He didn't know how the boy had talked him into taking a "vacation," but he was sure it was a terrible idea. D'Artagnan wasn't ready to do Athos's job alone. He was going to come home and find the city in ruins and supervillains running rampant in the streets.

Of course, Athos wouldn't have minded some supervillains showing up here. There wasn't anything to do in this tiny city.

He was going to go mad.

He was vaguely aware that normal people went on vacations to get away from their jobs. But he'd been bored after a day of sightseeing, so on went the armor. Constance was going to kill him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He leaned forward, focusing intently on the section of the street illuminated by the streetlights. He could make out a shadowy figure standing in front of what looked like a jewelry store. Not for the first time, he wished he had some binoculars on this ridiculous belt.

His night got drastically better when the figure broke the glass window. Athos heard an alarm go off, but the thief seemed undeterred. Good. He smiled grimly and rappelled down the side of the building, appreciating the subtle modifications Constance had made to his gear. He didn't make a sound until his feet hit the ground.

Athos stalked forward noiselessly. He could make out the thief's shadow moving within the darkened store. It was too easy to creep up behind him and apply just the right amount of pressure to knock him out. Would've been easier to be less gentle about it, but some of D'Artagnan's idealism was rubbing off on him.

He cuffed the criminal to the streetlight, trussed up and ready for police pickup. He was about to leave when someone dropped heavily into the alley behind him. He whirled, ready to face this new threat, and saw a giant of a man in a mask even more ridiculous than his own staring at him in confusion.

"Who the hell are you?" a gruff voice asked.

Athos raised an eyebrow, realizing too late that the effect would be lost in the depths of his mask. "I could ask you the same question," he said coolly.

The man bristled. "Listen, buddy, I don't know where you're from, but this city already has me lookin' out for it."

Athos looked pointedly over at the broken window. "Really?" he drawled. "Doesn't seem like you're doing a very good job."

The man snarled at him. It seemed rather appropriate, given the subtle stripes on his mask, like a tiger. "I c'n handle my own city just fine, you bastard."

Athos gave him a sardonic smile. "We'll see."

For a moment, he thought the man was going to spring at him. He stalked forward and slashed a hand across the streetlamp above the captured thief, leaving three marks like claws in the metal. Then he growled at Athos and vanished back down the alley.

Athos actually felt rather disappointed. He could've used a good brawl.

Before he returned to his perch, he paused to examine the claw marks. Perhaps he should leave a calling card as well, just to annoy _le tigre_. But no, it would be more frustrating for him if Athos simply stopped crime and left the evidence for him to find. Athos smiled to himself, feeling immensely satisfied. Maybe this vacation would be better than he'd thought.

It didn't take him long to put his plan in motion. It was easy to learn that _le tigre_ didn't have grappling hooks or climbing gear, so Athos could beat him to many crimes. He began to relentlessly roam the city, foiling every criminal he came across and leaving them tied in public places. Sometimes, he would find them already captured, with three claw marks in the wall nearby. He could have rubbed the marks out, but he didn't, preferring the thrill of the competition.

Athos hadn't had this much fun in years, not even when he'd first taken D'Artagnan on as his apprentice (the boy called himself a sidekick, but Athos found the word distasteful). He found himself striving to be faster and smarter than ever before. It was clear _le tigre_ relied on his strength and size, so Athos focused on crimes that were committed in tall buildings or that ended in high-speed chases, knowing he had an edge.

He found the first note scratched into a wall a few days after he arrived in the city. It said some rather uncomplimentary things about his ancestry. Athos actually laughed.

As time went on, the notes became less insulting and more informative. One even explained the city's crime lord and his particular signature in robberies, so Athos would know what to look for. Without noticing, their rivalry had developed into grudging cooperation.

After nearly a month in the city, Athos finally remembered that he should be heading home. D'Artagnan had managed well in his absence, but he had no reason to remain any longer. He felt odd about just leaving without an explanation, though, so he decided to stay a few more nights. He'd leave a note for _le tigre_ somewhere.

That same night, he noticed a man in an alley being approached by several unsavory looking figures. The man seemed totally oblivious to their presence. With a sigh, Athos dropped down and took them out just before the leader could pull a knife on the guy.

He was shocked when the man whirled around, grinning at him. "I wondered if you were going to show up."

Athos frowned at him. "Do I know you?" The man had dark, curly hair, tan skin, and dark eyes, and he was watching Athos as if they had met before.

"No," the man said, still grinning. He was startlingly attractive. "But I think you met my boyfriend. I've been trying to find you for ages, but you're too good at what you do, so I figured I'd have to take a chance if I wanted to meet you. I'm Aramis."

Athos blinked at him, utterly at a loss. A moment later a dark shaped dropped from a fire escape behind Aramis and stalked forward, a familiar striped mask over its eyes.

"There you are," Aramis said, turning to smile at _le tigre_.

"The hell did you think you were doin'?" the larger man growled. "You coulda gotten yourself killed!"

"Porthos, don't be ridiculous," Aramis said dismissively, ignoring Porthos's furious hiss and Athos's own soft gasp. It was the height of rudeness to expose someone's secret identity. "I was perfectly safe with our new friend here watching over me."

The man named Porthos still looked like he was seething, so Athos said, very quietly, "My name is Athos."

He wasn't really sure what possessed him to do it. He hadn't even told D'Artagnan his secret identity for months after they started working together, and to this day the only people that knew it were the boy, Constance, and Ninon. But something about these two made him feel oddly secure.

"There," Aramis said triumphantly. "Now that we all know each other, there's something Porthos has been meaning to ask you."

Porthos sent Aramis a glare, looking suddenly nervous. "I told you I would do it in my own time!" he growled.

"He might've been gone by then!"

"What did you want to ask me?" Athos asked.

"Porthos would like to know if you plan to stay in the city," Aramis said. Athos sighed, guessing he was being asked to leave, when Aramis added, "He hopes you'll stay. So do I. I worry much less knowing someone's watching his back."

"I've been thinking about it," Athos said, even though he'd been planning to leave that very night. Suddenly the thought of home was less appealing.

"Excellent!" Aramis said triumphantly. "Well, now that we're on the same page, off with the masks, _mes chers_."

There was absolutely no reason to obey. None whatsoever. And yet when Porthos's hand reached uncertainly towards his mask, Athos's followed suit.

With the striped mask gone, Porthos was every bit as attractive as Aramis.

"Oh yes," Aramis said, eyes gleaming excitedly as he grinned. "I think we'll all get along fantastically."

Athos had a feeling he wouldn't be returning to his city for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any votes to one day make this a longer series? I'm all for it!
> 
> Find us on Tumblr as sirlancelotthebrave and comehitherashes!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - Person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter
> 
> Eh, not loving this one, even though Porthos is being an adorable little shit!
> 
> Tags: Porthos/Athos, Aramis/Porthos, OT3

Aramis was running late.

Being twenty minutes late to an important staff meeting might worry the average person. But Aramis was secure in the knowledge that Treville wouldn't fire him. He'd put up with Aramis for the last three years and trusted him with their most promising new hire. He wasn't worried in the slightest.

Until, of course, he walked through the door and realized it _wasn't_ Treville running the meeting.

Icy blue eyes stopped him in his tracks so thoroughly that the door swung closed and hit his ass before he remembered to move. The newcomer was standing in Treville's spot, looking unfairly attractive in his navy suit, and watching Aramis like a killer whale might watch a helpless seal pup.

"So glad you could join us, Aramis," Treville muttered from somewhere behind the man. "Since you missed the introductions, again, this is Athos de la Fére, our new Vice President. He's come up from Production to whip you all into shape."

Aramis could tell Treville was enjoying this far too much.

"Nice to meet you," he said, summoning up a somewhat pathetic version of his usual charming smile. The blue eyes did not soften. Feeling immensely uncomfortable, Aramis dropped quickly into the first open seat he found. Athos continued to glare for several seconds before continuing his presentation.

"Don't worry. He's not as scary as he looks," the person next to him whispered. Aramis looked over to find a person he did not know grinning at him.

He blinked. With a smile like that, he wanted to know this man. "Oh really?" he whispered back, charm returning full force in the face of such an attractive conversation partner.

"Yeah, he's just a bit prickly, like a hedgehog," the man murmured. Aramis nearly snorted. "I'm Porthos."

"Nice to meet you," Aramis whispered back. "I'm Aramis, head of Marketing. Are you new?"

Porthos grinned. "Nah, came up with him," he said, jerking his chin at Athos, who was saying something about increasing production value. He looked very serious, gesturing at the diagram behind him. Very quietly, Porthos muttered, "Aw, ain't it adorable when he gets all official?"

Aramis actually giggled.

Treville's head whipped around to give him a dangerous glare, but Athos seemed intent on ignoring him. "We probably shouldn't tease the new VP," Aramis said, hoping Porthos would continue to do just that.

Porthos seemed happy to oblige. "Why not? I do it every night at-"

At that moment Athos snapped a heavy binder closed, making Aramis jump. He was resolutely still not looking in their direction, but Porthos was grinning triumphantly.

Aramis laughed silently to himself and sat back, resolving to pay attention to at least part of the speech. Athos seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, and Aramis was actually interested in what he was saying.

Right up until the moment when Porthos leaned forward and whispered, "What's on that lady's head?"

Aramis's eyes darted to Linda, who was once again wearing some sort of strange, flowery hat. "Ah, another triumph," he whispered back to Porthos.

"She wears one of those things every day?" Porthos asked, looking impressed. "Gotta give 'er credit, s' not every lady who can walk around with a flower pot on 'er head!"

Aramis bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "She's a very nice lady," he murmured.

"Yeah, I c'n see that, I bet she's given homes to loads of little birds," Porthos said wickedly.

"You are a terrible person," Aramis whispered.

"Nah, I'm the life of the party," Porthos said. "That's why Athos keeps me around. What's his deal?" he asked, nodding towards D'Artagnan, who looked to be hanging off of Athos's every word.

"He's my protégé," Aramis murmured. "I won't hear anything against him."

"He looks bright, but I've never seen anyone look at Athos without lookin' a tiny bit afraid," Porthos said. "Lookit 'im, he's not scared at all! Good for 'im."

"I'm afraid the Pup has a case of hero worship," Aramis whispered. Porthos laughed aloud at the nickname. At the head of the table, Athos's expression grew icier.

"We'll 'ave to set him on Athos," Porthos said softly. "It'll be good for him to 'ave a sidekick."

"Once the lad gets his teeth in, he'll never let go," Aramis warned. "He'll follow you around everywhere asking questions about his hero. I'll probably get roped in as well."

"Sounds fun," said Porthos. He was watching Athos intently. Athos was continuing to ignore him. Porthos frowned. "Still no reaction."

"Are you trying to get one?" Aramis whispered.

Porthos nodded. "He was way more nervous about this than he let on, so I'm tryin' to distract him," he admitted. "Oh, I know. Would it interest you to know that Athos was so flustered about this meeting this mornin' that he forgot to put his boxers on?"

Aramis nearly choked. "Really?" he whispered.

"Yep. He's doin' the presentation commando." Porthos chuckled a bit too loudly, and a moment later went very still, staring sheepishly up at the head of the table.

Aramis looked around to find a pair of icy blue eyes pinning Porthos in his seat. Aramis could feel the force of his stare in his very bones. It was oddly thrilling.

Athos was silent for so long that the other heads of departments spun in their seats to stare back at them. At last Athos began speaking again as if nothing had happened.

"I'm in trouble," Porthos muttered, looking less than put out by the idea.

"You can blame it all on me if you want," Aramis whispered.

"Then he'll punish you."

"Exactly," Aramis said, grinning recklessly.

Porthos shot him an appraising look, smile reappearing on his face. "I think you and I are gonna get along swimmingly," he murmured. "Hang back after the meeting, we c'n ask Athos about his errant boxers."

"Maybe you can arrange a private show for me."

Ignoring the glares from Athos and Treville, Porthos threw back his head and laughed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - Laser tag AU
> 
> It's been a long time since I went to a laser tag place, so forgive any inaccuracies. 
> 
> Tags: brotherly OT4, mentions of Constagnan, no slash unless you squint

"We're going where?" Athos asked, wrinkling his nose at the flyer in D'Artagnan's hands.

"Laser tag, Athos!" the boy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I got a special deal!"

"Didn't sell your soul for that, did you, pup?" Porthos asked as Aramis snatched at the flyer.

"Of course not," D'Artagnan scowled. "It was a good deal, honestly!"

"Don't you get shot at enough at work?" Aramis asked. "Now you want to get shot at for fun?"

D'Artagnan ignored him. "The owner said business has been slow and guaranteed us the place to ourselves if we could fill two four person teams."  
"Do we have enough for that?" Athos asked, frowning. He didn't think he even knew that many people.

"Well, we're one team, and Flea said she can get four for the other if she invites that new girl Constance to come with her, Anne, and Ninon. She said she's really nice!"

"Are you sure you don't just want her to come because you're in love with her?" Aramis asked, smirking.

D'Artagnan flushed. "Are you coming or not?"

"Sure pup, count us in," Porthos said, ruffling the lad's hair. D'Artagnan bounced off, leaving Athos frowning after him and hoping this wasn't a terrible idea.

Three hours later, and Athos was sure this was a terrible idea. He'd forgotten how damn _fast_ Ninon was. The only person on their team agile enough to beat her was Aramis, who was gleefully hunting Anne at the moment. D'Artagnan was on the sidelines with Constance, waiting for their death timers to finish counting down so they could rejoin the fight. D'Artagnan looked far too pleased about being dead. Porthos had vanished, but he had a feeling Flea and Anne were stalking him.

They had not planned this out well. Without a proper plan of attack, they were being picked off like flies. Athos had the sinking suspicion that the ladies had strategized before they arrived at the laser tag course.

"Hello, _mon cher_!" Ninon cried from somewhere behind him. A moment later his chest piece lit up red, signaling that he was 'dead.'

"It's considered dishonorable to shoot an opponent in the back," Athos muttered darkly, stalking off the course to wait on the sidelines. Ninon blew him a kiss.

A moment later Porthos joined him, glowering back at Flea, who was grinning smugly. She and Ninon vanished together to join the hunt for Aramis, whose speed and skill still couldn't save him from a three on one fight.

"Oh, lads, don't look so glum," Flea said, grinning wickedly at them. "How 'bout a rematch? Your timers'll click back in a moment."

"We promise to go easy on you this time," Ninon added. Constance and Anne snickered.

"Oh yeah?" Porthos growled, glaring at them. Athos suspected Flea's easy victory was still smarting.

"We accept, provided we be given a moment to reevaluate our strategy beforehand," Athos said quickly, cutting Porthos off before he doomed them to another rapid defeat.

"That was a strategy?" Anne asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically while she re-tied her golden ponytail. Constance stayed quiet, perhaps not comfortable enough within the group to enter into the easy banter.

"Deal," said Ninon, smirking at them. "We'll head to opposite ends, countdown a minute, and attack."

As soon as they were out of sight, Athos turned to his brothers. "I hope you have a plan," D'Artagnan said glumly. "They destroyed us last time."

Athos nodded. "They expect us to fail again, so we can use their overconfidence against them. D'Artagnan, I want you to charge in recklessly, let them think we have a terrible plan. Take one of them out if you can, but don't worry if you can't. You're just a diversion."

D'Artagnan grinned, gripping his laser gun more tightly. "I can do that."

"Good," Athos said. "Aramis, I want you up on those platforms. Get to the limit of the laser's range and shoot from there. None of them can match you as a sniper. Try to get Ninon out of the game first, she's their heaviest hitter."

"Flea will try an' circle around," Porthos grunted. "She likes to get behind people."

Athos nodded. "Then set a trap for her. Get out to the halfway mark as fast as you can and find cover. Wait until she slips by and get her in the back. I'll hang back and let whoever is left come to me. If we're lucky, they'll leave themselves exposed enough that Aramis can pick them off."

"I like this plan," Aramis said, grinning manically.

Athos glanced at his watch. "Time's almost up. Be ready to move."

He stepped forward, shifting into a ready position, and saw the others fan out beside him. When the minute hand swept past the twelve he nodded. Aramis and Porthos melted away to the sides, heading toward their respective positions, while D'Artagnan immediately charged forward, rolling from cover to cover but being as blatant about his movements as possible. Athos followed silently behind him, slipping behind a wall where he could see the field before him without being seen.

As he had predicted, the women noticed D'Artagnan at once. He saw Ninon's head duck behind a half-wall, Anne's golden ponytail. There was no sign of Flea or Constance.

D'Artagnan made it further than Athos had expected, owing mainly to the sudden sound of someone's vest going off somewhere to the left. Athos's own vest did not flash to accompany it, so he grinned to himself. Porthos had taken out Flea.

Stage one complete.

The distraction gave D'Artagnan the time to get close enough to shoot a round at Anne, who darted to one side and returned fire. Within seconds, both their vests were flashing mutually assured destruction at one another.

Stage two complete.

D'Artagnan and Anne hurried off the course, trying to clear the way for their teammates to continue the battle. Unfortunately, their departure gave Ninon time to find a new position, and Athos lost track of her.

With Ninon and Constance both in unknown positions, Athos couldn't risk staying still. He ducked off to the left, hoping to rejoin with Porthos. He was moving through the shadows when alarms went off again, somewhere on the right side of the course. Aramis must have found a target. Athos risked climbing partway up one of the obstacles and saw Ninon stalking off the course, scowling up at the raised platforms.

Stage three complete.

That left only Constance, and Athos had to admit, she was a bit of an unknown. Her petite figure and kind nature were highly misleading. She'd only been taken out in the first round because Aramis had spotted her auburn hair in the darkness and fired blindly. Ninon said she was an excellent shot at the shooting range. Athos would be careful, but he was fairly confident in their chances, especially with Porthos and Aramis still in the game.  
At that exact moment, his chest flashed red. Somewhere ahead of him, an alarm blared. Constance had just taken out Porthos.

Which meant she was far closer to him than she was to Aramis, and was likely out of Aramis's range. And Athos had no idea where she was. Shit.

He didn't dare move forward blindly, so he crept back, angling toward the right wall and Aramis's platform.

He only made it about halfway before he spotted movement in the darkness. He froze, watching the spot intently until the shadowy figure resolved into Aramis. He'd clearly abandoned his platform and was going on the offensive.

Athos was about to shout out to him when a second dark shape detached itself from the wall behind him. Athos didn't even have time to yell a warning before Constance had taken Aramis out.

He leapt forward, firing at Constance before she could vanish, but Aramis was in the way, and she spotted him before he could hit her. Athos had to doge to the side as she raised her gun, popping up from behind an obstacle to continue shooting. After another second, her vest lit up.

He was about to do something completely out of character and shout his victory when he noticed the alarm sounded a bit too loud. With a sinking feeling, he looked down and saw his own vest flashing as well.

"Guess it's a tie," Constance said, smiling sheepishly as the others sprinted over, already arguing about whose vest had gone off first. D'Artagnan was watching Constance with obvious adoration, babbling excitedly about her tactics, while Anne and Flea shouted at Aramis and Porthos. Athos watched silently for a while before clearing his throat.

"D'Artagnan," he called over the din. Everyone turned to look at him. "I believe your brochure said that we had _three_ matches."

For a moment, everyone was frozen. Then there was a mad scramble as everyone headed in different directions, ready for the final, deciding match.

Athos ducked behind cover, grinning madly to himself. Laser tag was fun.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - ‘So YOU’RE the douchebag who keeps mowing their lawn while I’m trying to sleep’ AU
> 
> Tags: Athos/Porthos, established Athos/Aramis

There were a few things in life Athos valued above all others: excellent wine, comfortable sweaters, and sleeping in on the weekends.

Right now, one of those things was being ripped away from him.

And he was not happy.

With a muffled growl he jerked his head off the pillow, glaring in the general direction of the window. That bastard was at it again. Every Saturday for the last month some idiot down the street had woken up at an unholy hour to mow their lawn, and Athos was done with it. He was going to put the fear of God into his unsuspecting neighbor.

It took effort not to spit swears at the window, but Athos managed to stay quiet as he rolled out of bed, careful not to tug on the sheets. Aramis made a forlorn noise but did not wake up. Athos envied him. Aramis had always been a deep sleeper.

Athos was at the bedroom door before he realized he ought to get dressed. Satisfying as it would be to storm out there and shout at the idiot with the lawnmower this instant, it would not look very intimidating if he went out in sweatpants and Aramis's Jurassic Park t-shirt.

He changed quietly, trying not to wake Aramis. Once he was wearing what he considered his most intimidating clothing, he headed back to the bedroom door. He contemplated waking Aramis just so he could watch him take their asshole neighbor down a peg, but ultimately decided against it. Someone should get to enjoy their sleep.

He slipped silently out of the bedroom and down the hall, pausing only to pull on his shoes on at the front door before heading out. He stopped on the front step to squint angrily at the horizon. The sun wasn't even up properly, for god's sake. Down the street, the lawnmower increased in volume. Athos growled and set off.

With each step he felt himself growing more livid. Enough was enough. This bastard had no right to go around ruining everyone's mornings just because he wanted a neat yard. He was probably some rude, balding older man obsessed with his lawn. Maybe he had a ruler to check its height. Athos hoped so. He would enjoy snapping it in half.

He reached the proper house and set off across the front yard, taking vindictive pleasure in stamping down the freshly cut grass. He could hear the lawnmower somewhere in the backyard, so he headed around the house.

Athos stormed around the corner in a haze of righteous fury and found himself confronted with a massive lawnmower only feet from him. With an undignified squawk he leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding being clipped by the front end.

His heart was still beating rather fast when the lawnmower shut down and the driver leapt off. "What the hell did you think you were doin'?" the man shouted. "I almost ran you over, you idiot!"

"I'm the idiot? I'm not the one mowing my lawn at 7 in the morning!" Athos snarled back, whirling around to face his opponent.

He'd been badly wrong. The lawn mowing bastard was not some rude, balding older man obsessed with his lawn. He was a young, muscular, unfairly attractive man who might still be obsessed with his lawn. And he wasn't wearing a shirt, which was an extremely unfair tactical advantage.

"Did I wake you up?" the man asked. Athos was about to shout at him some more, attractiveness be damned, when he noticed the man actually looked apologetic.

"Yes, you did," he snapped. "And you have every Saturday this month."

"Shit," the man said bluntly. "Sorry. I always forget normal people sleep in. You live on the street?"

Athos narrowed his eyes at him, wondering if this was some sort of trick. "Yes," he said at last. "The house on the end."

"You could 'ear it all the way down there?" The man was beginning to look troubled. "Hell, I really am sorry. I've just been too busy to get to it during the week, and my lawnmower is pretty old, so it doesn't cut it all that well anymore."

"I see," Athos said icily.

"Look, if I promise not to mow the lawn so early, will you stop givin' me that death glare?" the man asked, flashing him a crooked smile.

Athos blinked. Most people did not dare call him out on that.

"Ah, much better. I'm Porthos." The man held out a hand.

Athos shook it, idly noting the strength of his grip. "Athos."

"Nice to meet you," Porthos said. It seemed that crooked smile was a permanent fixture of his face when he wasn't being shouted at. Athos was irritated with himself for liking it. He was still struggling not to stare at Porthos's bare chest. "What's a good time to mow then, if not on Saturday mornings?"

"Anything earlier than noon is blasphemy," Athos said at once.

Porthos threw back his head and laughed. "Blasphemy. I like that." It took Athos a moment to force his brain to stop coming up with ways to provoke that laugh again. "Right, I promise not to mow before noon from now on. Still gonna have to do it every weekend though. Like I said, old mower. Can't afford new blades right now."

"If that is the case, then you may borrow ours," Athos announced, feeling unusually generous.

Porthos looked shocked. "Nah, I couldn't impose."

"If it will keep the neighborhood quiet, then it is not an imposition," Athos said. For some reason, he really hoped Porthos would accept the offer.

"Alright," Porthos said at last, crooked grin returning. "S' a deal."

"Then come along."

"What, now?"

"I'm already awake. If you finish your lawn now, then next Saturday will be silent," Athos said, heading back towards the house. Porthos followed. He wondered if Aramis was awake yet. Selfishly, he hoped he wasn't.

He'd like to have Porthos to himself for a little while longer.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - ‘Dude I know we don’t know each other but my swim trunks came off when I jumped in the water can you grab them for me’ AU
> 
> Shit, I'm late, it's past 7, I AM SO SORRY. Worked late and forgot I hadn't posted earlier. Ughhh.
> 
> Tags: established Porthos/Athos, Porthos/Aramis, mentioned Constagnan

"I don't see why I needed to come with you."

Porthos rolled his eyes. "How about 'cause I'd look like a right idiot if I came to a water park by myself?"

"It's not my fault you have idiotic interests," Athos muttered, glaring at the crowds moving by them. "I don't see why I am getting punished for your poor choices."

"It'll be fun, love. Pup and Constance are already 'ere, they'll meet us in a bit. We'll make a day of it, and we'll all have a good time."

"Doubtful," Athos said, sniffing rather haughtily.

"You plannin' to change into your bathing suit anytime soon?" Porthos asked, smirking. Athos was still wearing what he considered appropriate summer attire, which consisted of jeans, a black t-shirt, dark sunglasses, and a pair of sandals Porthos hadn't even known Athos owned. Still, in the 90 degree heat, he was surely sweltering.

"I will change when I feel like it," Athos muttered sullenly. Which probably meant never. Porthos decided not to push the issue.

"Pup says he and Constance are about to get in line for one of the big slides. He's gotta leave his phone in the locker, but he'll text after so we can meet up," Porthos said, reading his most recent text. "So we got a half hour or so. What do you want to do?"

"Leave," was the immediate response.

"We're not doin' that. How 'bout I buy you some Dippin' Dots and you can sit on one of the loungers 'till we head to the meet up?" At last if he bought Athos ice cream he wouldn't die of heat stroke.

"And what will you be doing?" Athos asked suspiciously.

Porthos grinned and pointed to the giant structure behind them. It stretched at least a story above them.

"I hate to disappoint you, _mon cher_ , but that… _thing_ is for children," Athos said.

"Nah, there's a few adults, look. See, there's one in the water, there."

"Those are parents. With their children. Which you are not," Athos said obstinately.

"S' got a wave pool right next to it and loads o' cool stuff to climb on. I'm goin'."

"On your head be it," Athos muttered darkly. "What are these Dippin' Dots?"

Ten minutes later, Athos was sulking on a poolside lounger beside the wave pool with a giant container of mint chocolate chip Dippin' Dots that he was resolutely pretending he didn't enjoy. The fact that he'd finished a quarter of the bowl already told Porthos that his false dislike was just an act. Porthos left him to his ice cream and headed toward the climbing structure.

He waded straight into the water and began climbing the side of the attraction shaped to look like a half-sunken pirate ship. He was heading toward the spot he'd spied from the ground. The water at the base of the attraction was still, presumably for the sake of safety, but he'd seen one spot that looked like he could jump directly from the structure into the deepest part of the wave pool.

He might die, but it would be legendary.

There weren't many kids on this level of the structure, so he was able to get a good look down into the wave pool. The sign said it was eight feet deep, which should be plenty to break his fall. And there was hardly anyone in the deeper parts at the moment, so he wouldn't squash anyone.

If he thought about it too much, he knew he would chicken out, so with deep breath he took a running start and launched himself into the wave pool.

To his immense relief, he landed in the water and did not hit the bottom. Everything might have been fine if the waves hadn't kicked up the moment he'd made contact with the pool.

Porthos felt his blood run cold as he realized that he'd overlooked one crucial part of his plan: swimming trunks.

More specifically, the importance of keeping said swimming trunks _on_ while jumping into a giant pool.

Porthos's bathing suit was nowhere to be seen.

He felt himself starting to panic as another wave swept over his head. This could not be happening. The next wave nearly swamped him because he wasn't paying attention, which at least snapped him out of his impending panic. The last thing he needed was for a lifeguard to come check on him now. He would rather drown. At least he was a great swimmer.

He forced himself to breathe, treading water and scanning the pool for his wayward trunks. His bathing suit was neon orange and blue, for fuck's sake. It couldn't have gone far.

Porthos was forced to swim over the next wave. He wished he could go in a bit further to where his feet could at least touch the ground, but he didn't dare without his bathing suit. There were kids here.

Oh god. What if he didn't find it before the waves stopped? People would start coming out to the deeper areas again.

He was so fucked.

Frantically, he glanced around, wondering if Athos's chair was close enough that he could shout for help. At that moment, something splashed behind him.

 _Shit_. Someone else was in the deep part of the pool.

With a sense of impending doom, Porthos slowly spun around. He found himself face to face with a dark head bobbing in the waves. A blindingly white smile was flashed in his direction.

Great. Not only was a guy about to realize he was naked in the goddamn wave pool, but it was a _hot_ guy.

"I think you lost these," the guy said, smirking a little. Under the level of the water, he waved something orange and blue.

Porthos's bathing suit.

"Thank you!" he gasped, too relieved to even be embarrassed. The guy just laughed. From what Porthos could see beneath the water, the guy had stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine.

"You're welcome," the guy said, laughing as Porthos attempted to tread water and replace his trunks at the same time. "I saw that jump. It was pretty impressive."

"Not sure it was worth it," Porthos grunted, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally got the bathing suit back on. The guy was watching him with what looked like interest. He wasn't being flirted with, was he? "I mean, I looked cool, but if I'd had to get out without a suit on…"

"Good thing I was here to rescue you," the guy called teasingly as another wave sent them both bobbing. Porthos blinked the water out of his eyes and smiled. So he _was_ being flirted with, then. The day was looking up.

"I'm Porthos!" he said. The guy smiled and opened his mouth to reply when the alarm blared, signaling the end of the waves. As deep as they were, it felt like it was ringing in Porthos's skull. He winced and immediately paddled to shallower waters, stopping when his feet touched the ground at last. He was relieved to see the guy had followed him.

"Aramis," he said when they stopped.

"Nice to meet you," Porthos said, flashing his very best charming smile. "So, do you make a habit of rescuing idiots who've lost their bathing suits?"

Aramis laughed. His dark hair was starting to dry a bit, revealing the beginnings of wild curls. "Only very impressive ones. Or very pathetic ones."

Porthos winced. "I don't think I want to know what category I'm in."

"Oh, impressive, certainly," Aramis said with a wink.

"You 'ere with friends?" Porthos asked, hoping he was reading the signs right and that he didn't sound too eager.

"No, sadly, I am an idiot who came to the park alone," said Aramis with a heavy sigh. "My sisters were supposed to come with my nieces and nephews, but they have all cancelled on me. Now I sail the Seven Seas alone."

"Bet I could fix that," Porthos offered. "You're welcome to join us."

"Us?" Aramis looked briefly disappointed.

"Oh, yeah. I think Athos will like you," Porthos said, hoping Aramis would get that he'd have more than one person interested in him if he took them up on the offer.

"Athos, eh?" Aramis asked, eyes narrowing with interest. He did not look remotely daunted by the prospect. Porthos grinned.

"Yep. And if you tell him all about my embarrassing situation he'll like you even more."

"I'll be sure to lead with that," Aramis chuckled.

"Does that mean you'll join us?"

"Someone has to make sure you don't lose your trunks again," Aramis said wickedly. "Until, of course, the proper time."

"That so?" Porthos asked, grinning broadly. Aramis winked shamelessly. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

As he led the way out of the pool and back towards Athos's chair, Porthos wondered idly what Dippin' Dots would taste like eaten off someone. He grinned to himself at the thought.

Hopefully Athos would want to find out too.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - Person A has never learned how to ride a bike, so Person B offers to teach them. It’s not a pretty experience. 
> 
> Putting this one up early so I don't miss the cutoff like I did yesterday!
> 
> Tags: Richelieu/Treville, referenced Constagnan and OT3

"Plenty of people don't know how to ride bikes."

Richelieu sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens with a prayer for patience. "Yes, but those people did not agree to go on a bike tour of Paris with their horde of adopted children."

'They're not my children," Treville grumbled. He was eyeing the bicycle like one might eye a rattlesnake lying across the path.

"You invite them over for holidays, send them birthday presents, and attended their weddings. You are their father."

"I am not!"

"Porthos gave you a 'World's Greatest Dad' mug," Richelieu said, tiring of this old debate. "D'Artagnan's kids call you grandpa. Accept your lot in life, _mon cher_."

"If I'm their father, what's that make you?" Treville muttered sullenly. "Their evil stepmother?" Richelieu guessed that his bitterness was based on his discomfort with the situation, so he let the insult slide.

"Clearly I am their wealthy, well-connected, devilishly handsome adopted uncle," Richelieu said airily.

Treville snorted. "Right. That's why Aramis calls you to gossip every Sunday and Constance has the kids calling you Pepére. Don't think I don't notice this stuff."

"My relationship with our adopted brood aside," Richelieu said, pointedly cutting off Treville's rant. "We came here for a purpose, and we shall accomplish it."

"I don't see why this is necessary," muttered Treville. "I could just call the whole thing off."

"The tickets are booked, the bikes are rented, and everyone will be here in a few days," Richelieu said, grabbing Treville's elbow and steering him toward the bike. "It's too late to bow out now."

"I'm too old to learn how to ride a bike, Armand," Treville said feebly, trying to twist away as if he were being led to his execution. "It's impossible."

"D'Artagnan and Constance will be doing this with children's seats on their bicycles," Richelieu said. "If they can balance a bike with a toddler on board, you can certainly stay seated long enough for a simple tour. Now get on."

Treville sent him a look of deep betrayal but climbed on the bike anyway, balancing precariously on his toes. "The seat's too high."

"I measured it perfectly," Richelieu said sternly. "You are not going to fall off. Pay attention. I will hold the handlebars for you while you pick up speed, and then I will let go." He'd chosen a deserted road outside the city for this little experiment, so at least if their little experiment failed spectacularly no one would be injured apart from them.

"You're going to let go?" Treville asked, sounding decidedly nervous as Richelieu got a grip on the handlebars. He wondered if this was what teaching a child to ride a bicycle was like.

"Really, Jean, there is nothing to it. Put your feet on the peddles and go."

Treville wobbled the moment he lifted his feet from the ground, but Richelieu tightened his grip and managed to keep the bicycle upright. He ignored the deeply mistrustful looks Treville kept sending his way and began to push the bike slowly forward, smirking when Treville at last figured out how to use the peddles.

Things actually went rather well for a few moments. Treville was moving forward steadily, albeit at a snail's pace, and he was beginning to look a bit less nervous. Then Richelieu let go.

The moment Treville realized he was no longer being supported, he let out an utterly ridiculous squawk of alarm and toppled sideways into to grass.

Only years of training in tense political climates kept Richelieu from laughing aloud. "You were meant to keep peddling, _mon cher_."

"This is an infernal contraption," Treville muttered, extricating himself from the fallen bicycle with difficulty. "I am not getting on that _thing_ again."

"But think how disappointed the boys will be if you back out," Richelieu said. "Aramis and Porthos were so looking forward to this, and D'Artagnan and Constance haven't really been out since the twins were born."

"I notice you left Athos off that list."

Richelieu waved a hand. "Athos would likely be relieved to be free of it, but that's not a good reason to give up."

"It is to me," Treville muttered mutinously.

Richelieu gave him a dangerous smile. "If you cancel the tour, I will be sure to tell them why. Think how much fun it would be for them to learn that Papa Treville cannot ride a bicycle."

"I hate you."

"Come now, back on the bike." Richelieu steadied it once more while Treville mounted, looking slightly more determined than before.

"Don't let go until I have it this time, alright?"

"I won't," Richelieu replied, pushing the bicycle lightly to get it moving. He walked slightly faster this time, forcing Treville to pick up speed. The challenge was to keep the bike upright despite the utter lack of balance in its rider, which would have been difficult for a young man, let alone a man of Richelieu's age. If he didn't let go soon, he would get dragged down too.

With that in mind, he took a long stride and attempted to push the bicycle ahead of him, hoping the quick burst of acceleration would keep Treville moving. What he did not anticipate was Treville noticing his attempt to escape and latching on immediately to his arm. When Richelieu stopped moving, he found himself being tugged forcefully into the side of the suddenly stationary bicycle. He and Treville wound up rolling over it into the field. The bicycle trundled a few more feet down the road before falling over.

"Anything damaged?" Richelieu asked, grateful for the soft grass.

"Only my dignity."

"You never had much of that." Richelieu looked down the road at the forlorn bicycle, pedals spinning innocently on their own.

"Now do you believe that it's impossible?" Treville asked, dropping his head down into the grass.

"Nothing is impossible. I have already devised a solution," Richelieu said, trying not to smirk.

"Oh? What is it?"

"How do you feel about training wheels, _mon cher_?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - ‘I know nothing about camping will you help me I think I heard a bear’ AU
> 
> AHHHH ALMOST LATE AGAIN, SORRY!
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos loved camping. Ever since Treville had gruffly suggested it as a way for them to 'bond' when he was fourteen, Porthos had loved camping. Treville didn't come along much anymore, claiming that sleeping on the ground was too much to expect from a man his age, but Porthos kept going alone. He loved the fresh air outside the city and the sounds of the woods at night.

He'd set up his tent at the farthest edge of the approved camping area, hoping to get some privacy from the horde of tourists who'd set up camp at the main sight. Porthos was glad that people were getting outside and enjoying nature, but he didn't particularly like being woken by wailing children before the birds were even up.

The weather had finally taken a turn toward spring, so Porthos didn't bother with a fire. His food was tied up in a nearby tree, his tent was set, and it was too early for mosquitoes to be out, so Porthos settled himself down against a nearby log and sat back, relaxing in the cool evening air.

He stayed out long enough to track the rise of the moon over the horizon before he finally decided to call it a night. The noise from the main campsite had cut out a while back, so he should be able to sleep uninterrupted. He was just climbing into his tent when he heard a branch break in the trees behind him.

Porthos turned slowly, not feeling overly worried. The biggest thing he would see in this part of New England was a deer, maybe a coyote. The black bears that roamed the Appalachians generally stayed away from the crowded campgrounds, smart enough to know that humans meant danger as much as food. And coyotes were usually only dangerous to children or dogs. So Porthos hesitated, one hand on the tent flap, waiting to see what would emerge.

All of a sudden, the breaking branches increased in volume. Whatever was out there was coming straight at him. He tensed, hoping there wasn't some rabid coyote about to attack him. A moment later, a guy in an unbuttoned red flannel shirt, work boots, and a pair of boxers with little pink hearts on them stumbled out of the woods.

Porthos expected the guy to stop when he noticed him there, assuming the guy was drunk or looking for a place to piss. He did not expect the guy to see him and sprint across the clearing to dive past him into his tent.

"What the fuck?" Porthos said, stumbling to the side as the guy leapt past him. "Who the hell are you? Get out of my tent!" If this guy was drunk or stoned, Porthos was going to call the park rangers.

"Please don't send me back out there," the guy said, huddled in the shadows at the back of the tent. "I think I heard a bear."

Porthos blew out a breath and began searching for his electric lantern. "I really doubt that," he muttered, locating it at last. "I was probably just a raccoon or something…"

He trailed off as the light came on and he got his first good look at the guy's face. Dark eyes were peering up at him from under a mess of wild curls, brows pinched in an adorably worried expression.

"But the sign said watch out for bears!" he said, still watching the tent opening as if he expected a bear to climb through and devour him.

"What were you doin' outside if you thought there were bears around?" Porthos asked, torn between exasperation and amusement.

"I had to pee," his guest said sheepishly.

Porthos sighed. "Look, I really doubt there's a bear. If you want, I'll walk you back to your tent."

The guy perked up, smiling at him. "Really? Thanks. I'm Aramis, by the way."

Porthos led the way from the tent, grabbing an extra flashlight as he went. "Porthos. This your first time camping?"

"Was it that obvious?" Aramis asked, wincing.

"Well, you ran into a stranger's tent in your underwear because you thought there was a bear after you, so yeah, it's pretty clear it's your first time." Porthos passed Aramis the extra flashlight and headed down the narrow trail back to the main campground.

Aramis glanced down, as if only now realizing he was in his boxers, and groaned. "I should never have come out here."

"Why did you?" Porthos asked, holding a branch aside so Aramis could pass him. "Doesn't really seem like the kind of thing a person does on a whim with no preparation."

"I was meant to be coming with a friend," Aramis explained, kicking a stick out of their path. "But he just got a new girlfriend, and he really wanted to spend the weekend with her. He's been mooning after this girl for ages, I didn't have the heart to push him into coming. But we already had the spot paid for and the tent packed, so I figured I'd just come on my own."

"And you've never been campin' before? In your entire life?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shrugged. "I live in the city. My whole family lives in the city. We aren't really outdoorsy people, unless the outdoors involves beaches and margaritas."

"That is the best kind of outdoors," Porthos agreed. At that moment, a branch snapped in the trees. Aramis gave a little yelp and leapt towards him, all but cowering against his side.

"What was that?" he asked nervously, directing the beam of Porthos's flashlight into the trees.

Porthos glanced in the direction and saw the light bounce off a pair of eyes near the ground. "S' a fox. Look, down there."

Aramis followed his gaze. "Oh," he said meekly as the reddish shape vanished into the darkness once more. He looked down at where he was pressed up against Porthos's side. "Sorry about that," he muttered, stepping away quickly.

"I don't mind," Porthos said honestly. Aramis flashed him a smile that warmed him all the way through, despite the brisk April breeze.

"There are bears out here though, right?" Aramis asked as they began to walk again. "I didn't just imagine that sign?"

"They live in the area," Porthos said. "But they don't really come around the campgrounds. The rangers scare them away. As long as you tie your food up, they won't bother you." He paused, suddenly worried. "You did tie your food up, right?"

"I actually ate everything already," Aramis admitted. "Most of it was marshmallows anyway."

Porthos laughed. "It's a good thing this is a major campground," he said teasingly. "If you were out in the wilderness, you'd be dead in a day."

"Good thing I found you then," Aramis said, winking at him. Porthos nearly tripped over a branch while trying not to grin like an idiot. He failed.

"I probably should have done a bit more research," Aramis said. "I mean, D'Artagnan knew a lot about camping, which is why I didn't really bother, but coming out here alone was probably stupid. I mean," Aramis said, holding up one hand and ticking off on his fingers, "Not enough food, no knowledge of the area, a deep fear of local wildlife, and terrible tent-constructing skills."

"What happened to your tent?" Porthos asked.

"Well, I tried to follow the instructions, but they were complicated." They came out of the trail onto the main campground and Aramis winced, pointing ahead of them. "As you can see, that didn't go so well."

"That's your tent?" Porthos asked, staring in dismay at the forlorn bit of fabric stretched awkwardly over a handful of poles that looked as if they had been bent in half.

Aramis nodded, looking rather miserable. "It didn't look like that on the package. I think I did it wrong."

"I think you killed it," Porthos said, walking over to the tiny tent. There were already tears in a few places where the poles were poking the lining. "You can't sleep in this, you'll freeze!"

"I have a sleeping bag," Aramis said defensively.

"Is it thermal?"

"…No?"

Porthos sighed. "Alright, grab your sleepin' bag and whatever else you need."

"What? Why?"

"I can't let you stay here and freeze. You can stay with me, my tent's a double anyway."

"Really?" Aramis was looking at him with an expression of utmost gratitude. "You are a lifesaver, monsieur."

"Nah," Porthos said, shuffling his feet. He felt rather self-conscious in the face of Aramis's blatant admiration. "C'mon, let's get going."

As he carried half of Aramis's things back towards his tent, Porthos reflected that camping alone was nice, but camping with someone else was more fun. Especially when that person was extremely attractive. The only problem now was going to be falling asleep a few feet away from Aramis.

Maybe, Porthos reflected, grinning, a tree branch would fall outside and send Aramis cuddling up to him in the night. A man could hope.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - We’re on a blind date, but wait a moment… aren’t you that guy who gave me a hand job at a Renaissance Faire a year ago?… what do you MEAN “WHICH ONE”?
> 
> Tags: Portamis, referenced Constagnan

Porthos nervously straightened his tie for the fourth time in as many minutes, eyes flicking from his watch to the door. Technically, he was early, but he was still panicking about the thought of being stood up.

He should never have agreed to this. D'Artagnan had been jabbering so incessantly about how he'd met this guy who was perfect for Porthos, and wouldn't he just let him set it up already, and at last Porthos had caved and agreed to a blind date. The lad had been riding a relationship high since he and Constance got together and he was convinced everyone else had to join him.

Did people even do blind dates anymore? Wasn't this all a bit old-fashioned? All Porthos even knew about the guy was that his name was Aramis. He didn't even have a last name to use to Facebook stalk him. D'Artagnan should have just set him up a Tinder and sent him on his merry way but no, he had to do this whole thing properly, including the second tier fancy restaurant. At least his suit fit well, thanks to Constance. He was starting to second guess his tie, though. Maybe red wasn't his color.

Across the restaurant, the door opened. Porthos craned his neck to see who had walked in, but it was just a couple. They were seated quickly. There was no one behind them.

Dejected, Porthos slumped back into his seat. He hadn't been on a date in over a year, not since he and Alice had decided once and for all that they just didn't work and that they would stay friends. He just hadn't wanted to put himself out there. The most action he'd got in the last year had happened at the goddamn Renaissance Faire, for god's sake.

The door opened again, and this time a guy came in alone. Porthos looked up and thought he could feel his jaw hitting the floor. The guy was gorgeous. Dark curls, tan skin, perfectly fitted suit, and a smile that was making Porthos feel ready to combust.

And he was looking at _him_.

Porthos felt his brain kick into overdrive. Holy shit, this wasn't the guy D'Artagnan had set him up with, right? No way he was that lucky. He found himself almost hoping it wasn't Aramis, just because he had no idea what to say to someone that attractive. But the guy was flashing him another smile and making his way to Porthos's table and shit, it must be Aramis then.

Porthos fought the urge to flee.

Aramis sat down across him with the kind of grace Porthos thought only existed in movies and smiled, shaking tousled curls out of his eyes.

Oh, Porthos was so fucked.

"You must be Porthos," Aramis said, lounging in the chair as casually as if it were a throne. "D'Artagnan's picture hardly does you justice."

"I didn't even get to see a picture of you," Porthos said, trying to fall into easy conversation as if he weren't internally drooling.

"Ah, clearly he had faith enough in my attractiveness to know it was unnecessary," Aramis said, smirking. Porthos blinked. Something about that look seemed familiar somehow, as if he had seen Aramis somewhere before. But surely he would remember that.

"So, D'Artagnan tells me you work in design," Porthos said, hoping he didn't sound too foolish.

"Yes, I work for Cardinal Fashion up on South Street," Aramis said. "Constance and I are about to unveil a new Spring Collection. And you work with D'Artagnan on the police force, correct?"

"Yeah," Porthos said, beginning to relax a bit. "Pup says your stuff is great."

"Well, we try. He told me you can dust anyone in the ring," Aramis said, looking decidedly interested. "I'd much rather hear about that."

The waiter interrupted them to take their orders at that moment, but Porthos felt like this was an encouraging start to the evening. Maybe this date would go well after all.

"I ordered some wine," Porthos said, gesturing at the bottle. "I hope red is fine."

"Red is perfect," Aramis said. Porthos hurriedly reached across to pour him a glass. Aramis reached out for the glass, long fingers closing gracefully around the stem, and Porthos nearly dropped the bottle.

"The Robin Hood Faire," Porthos breathed, staring at Aramis in disbelief.

Aramis set down his wine glass, frowning at him. "Hmm?"

Porthos didn't answer, too busy piecing his memory of that day back together. There'd been some sort of drink served in a hollowed out pineapple with way too much rum, and he'd had about six of them. Porthos was grateful he remembered any of it.

One thing he did remember was slipping behind the jousting arena with a guy dressed as a fairy, complete with silver wings and a crown, and the two of them fumbling with the clasps of Porthos's overly complicated armor for a good three minutes before it finally came off. This was followed by the single greatest hand job Porthos had ever received in his life.

It had been harder to place him without the perfect eyeliner and the glitter in his hair, but Porthos was absolutely sure that it had been Aramis.

"Were you at the Robin Hood Faire in Connecticut?" Porthos asked, struggling not to blush at the memory.

Aramis blinked. "Guilford? Yes, why?"

"Wouldn't've happened to be the last weekend, would it?"

"Well, yes I think so. Oh, were you there? Those pineapple things were pretty strong, my memory's a bit foggy."

"Were you dressed as a fairy?" Porthos asked wretchedly.

"Ah, yes, I was! Excellent costume, if I do say so myself. So you were there!"

Porthos felt as if he would rather a hole open under his feet and send him crashing into the pits of Hell than say what he had to say next. "Uh… I could be wrong, but aren't you the guy who gave me a hand job behind the joustin' arena?"

Aramis cocked his head to the side, frowning. "Which one were you?"

"What do you mean which one? How many guys were there?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shrugged, looking utterly unfazed. "At least four, I think. Aren't fairs like that basically meant for random hook-ups?"

Porthos had to agree with that, so he nodded, grabbing for his own glass of wine. Maybe alcohol would help settle him.

"What were you dressed as?" Aramis asked, regarding him thoughtfully.

"King Arthur," Porthos admitted sheepishly. "Had armor and everything."

Aramis's head shot up, eyes brightening with recognition. "Oh, that was you? I remember you!"

"Yeah?" Porthos asked, a bit surprised at Aramis's excitement.

"Yeah, you were the only guy that offered to return the favor!" Aramis said, grinning. "I remember thinking that was awfully decent of you. None of the others did."

"That's right!" Porthos said, frowning as another memory came back. "But you ran off before I could get the armor back on, and I couldn't find you again."

"So I did," Aramis said, looking rather disappointed. "I don't know why I did that, actually. I certainly intended to stay." He swirled his wine around in the glass, gazing at it pensively, before finally shrugging. "I think I left the fair altogether, but I can't actually remember why. Maybe one of my wings was falling off or something. That's a shame; I certainly would have enjoyed myself."

He flashed Porthos a charming smile. "So I suppose we're rather further along in this date than either of us realized, eh? We seem to have confused the order a bit. Not that I'm complaining."

Porthos laughed as the tension broke. "I'll drink to that," he said, lifting his glass. They clinked them together in a toast and drank.

After that, it became unbelievably easy to talk to Aramis. The conversation flowed so well that they'd finished eating before Porthos even registered that there was food in front of him. By the time the waiter brought the dessert menus over, Porthos was beginning to think he was in love. He could never have imagined a blind date going this well.

Aramis was looking over the menu, still smiling faintly at Porthos's last joke, so Porthos decided to go out on a limb in a way he hadn't in years. He hoped he wasn't misreading the situation.

"What do you say we skip the dessert and head out instead?" he asked, leaning forward.

Aramis looked up to meet his gaze, dark eyes flashing with interest. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

Porthos grinned, praying this would work. "Well, the way I see it, I owe you for last summer. Figured I oughta give you a chance to collect. I'm pretty good, I promise."

Aramis's smile could have melted an iceberg. Porthos grinned back and made a mental note to thank D'Artagnan later. "I'm sure I could think of something to do with you," Aramis purred.

Without looking away from Aramis, Porthos called, "Check please!"

He was definitely in love.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - You’re my waiter and I’m on a really crappy date with an asshole
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, implied OT3

The hands on her watch seemed to be moving at half speed. Constance fought the urge to bang it against the table to make sure it was still working. That would clearly broadcast her impatience. Jacques might be a terrible bore, but she was polite enough not to make it obvious. They'd only been here for five minutes and she was already going crazy.

There would _not_ be a second date.

"How are you this evening?" asked their waiter, coming over. Constance looked up to find a guy a bit younger than she was smiling at them. He was unfairly adorable.

"We're fine," Constance said when it became clear Jacques intended to ignore him. Boring and rude.

"That's great," the guy said. "My name's D'Artagnan and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you something to drink?"

"We'll each have a glass of water," Jacques said without looking up. Constance sighed. Not even a bottle of wine. Boring, rude, and stingy.

"Of course," D'Artagnan said. "I'll bring those right out." He gave Constance a sympathetic wince as he turned away. Clearly, she was broadcasting her dissatisfaction. Jacques seemed determined not to notice, though, so apparently it didn't matter.

Constance had only agreed to come on this date because she'd decided she wanted to get herself out there. Jacques's company supplied the studio where she worked with fabric, so she had given him a chance, hoping they might have shared interests.

How very wrong she had been. She should have taken Aramis up on his offer to set her up with one of his many acquaintances, but honestly, she hadn't been sure she wanted to date anyone who was friends with Aramis. She loved him dearly, but apart from Athos and Porthos, the man had very questionable taste.

Jacques was still droning on about some deal he'd made with a rival business when D'Artagnan came back with the drinks. To Constance's surprise, he set a martini in front of her.

"We didn't order that!" Jacques spluttered.

D'Artagnan turned his head so Jacques couldn't see and winked at her. "It's on the house." Constance suppressed the urge to wink back, but it was a near thing. "Are you ready to order?"

"I'll have the baked haddock," Jacques said, now eyeing D'Artagnan like a bug to be squished beneath his shoe.

"And I'll have the lobster mac 'n cheese, thanks," Constance said, appalled at Jacques's lack of manners.

"Are you sure you want that?" Jacques asked, turning that judgmental eye on her. Or, more specifically, on her waistline.

Constance bristled. "Yes, I'm sure," she snapped. "And I'll have a bowl of French Onion soup as an appetizer as well."

"Of course," D'Artagnan said. He was staring at Jacques as if he were trying not to laugh. Constance had to resist the urge herself when she glanced over to find Jacques gaping at her like a fish out of water. "Coming right up."

Unfortunately for her, Jacques recovered himself enough to pick up where he'd left off in his mind-numbing speech about textile regulations. Partway through her soup, Constance was considered trying to drown him in it. She wasn't really sure why she was even staying: there was a limit to even her politeness, after all. But she'd feel bad leaving D'Artagnan to deal with Jacques's wounded pride. He'd probably complain to the manager, blame her leaving on poor service or something equally ridiculous.

By the time the food came, Constance was ready to stab Jacques with the little stick impaling the olives in her martini. They were all that was left of the drink. At least the food shut him up for a few minutes, as he was apparently not quite rude enough to talk with food in his mouth.

Thank god for small miracles.

D'Artagnan came back to check on them more often than a waiter normally would, and Constance got the impression he was coming to make sure she hadn't lost her mind completely and committed murder. It was rather sweet, in a way, especially when he popped over with a second martini. This one had a tiny plastic sword with the olives. Constance wondered if he was condoning her murder plot.

"Can I get you anything for dessert?" D'Artagnan asked as he cleaned up their plates.

Constance wanted nothing more than a huge slice of chocolate cake, or maybe a brownie sundae, but Jacques snapped, "No, just the checks please. Separate checks."

Constance nearly snorted. Not like she expected anything else. But D'Artagnan was watching her, as if to make sure that was okay, so she smiled wearily at him and said, "Separate checks will be fine"

There was an awkward silence for a minute while they waited for D'Artagnan to bring the checks. Apparently even Jacques had run out of things to say. When the checks finally arrived, he grabbed his immediately and paid with cash.

"Perhaps we shouldn't do this again," he said, standing up. Apparently he wasn't even going to wait for her to pay before he left. "I think we may just be too different."

Constance didn't even bother replying, though she did give him a sarcastic little wave when he reached the door. Then she sighed, sliding her credit card into the holder.

"Finally gone, then?" D'Artagnan asked from behind her.

"Yes, thank god."

"Great. I brought you this. On the house, of course." D'Artagnan appeared at the edge of the table with some sort of melty chocolate cake. It looked so delicious, Constance wanted to cry.

"Thank you," she said, sniffing a bit. "It's too bad you can't stay and sit with me. It'd be nice to have some proper company this evening."

"Actually," said D'Artagnan, looking suddenly shy. "My shift just ended. So if you were serious…."

Constance smiled at him, nodding at Jacques's empty seat. "Please, join me." She passed him the extra spoon and dug into the cake. Maybe there was still a way she could save the evening.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - Arguments while traveling as to whether person #1 has magically gained a sense of direction since the last time person #2 stupidly listened to #1’s directions and they got lost. (Spoiler: no, person #1 has not magically gained a sense of direction.)
> 
> Tags: OT3 or BrOT3, depending on whether you squint

"We should just pull over and ask for directions."

"No one likes a back seat driver," Athos drawled, tightening his grip on the wheel. This could not be happening again.

"We're lost."

"We are not," Aramis interjected. He was staring intently at his phone.

"Right, where are we then?"

"In Wickford," Athos said succinctly, hoping to cut off the inevitable argument.

"You only know that 'cause we drove past the sign ten minutes ago. We're meant to be in Connecticut, not Rhode Island. We're lost," Porthos said. In the review view mirror, Athos could see him glaring.

"We're just taking a longer route," Aramis suggested peevishly from the passenger seat. "We'll get there."

"Look, just 'cause they were your directions doesn't make us any less lost. Last time Athos listened to you we wound up in New Hampshire!"

"New Hampshire is a beautiful state!"

"Not when you're aiming for New York!"

"Last time he listened to you we wound up in Pennsylvania!" Aramis snapped.

"Least that one's next to New York!"

"This is why I wanted a GPS," Athos said mildly. He wondered if between the two of them they would eventually land on the proper directions, or if they would be doomed to be lost forever. Sadly, the latter seemed more likely.

"We don't need a GPS, I got a map," Porthos said, waving it pointedly behind Aramis's head. "We should've turned back in Massachusetts. We're goin' the wrong way."

"You were reading it wrong!" Aramis said hotly. "The internet said to head into Rhode Island and take the exit to Wickford, so we did!"

"An' what's the internet say now, huh?" Porthos growled.

Aramis didn't answer.

Athos looked over, frowning. "I hate to take sides, but I do need to know where I'm meant to be turning. And how exactly that will get us to Newport."

Aramis was beginning to look decidedly uncomfortable. The screen of his phone had gone dark. "I'm not sure."

"Could you look it up?" Athos asked. He had a bad feeling about this.

"There's no 3G out here," Aramis mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Porthos said loudly. "Couldn't quite hear what you said."

Aramis sighed. "I said there's no service. I can't look up the directions."

"Unbelievable," Porthos muttered. Aramis shot him a dirty look.

"Do you at least know what direction we're heading in right now?" Athos asked, trying to be patient. If they were really lost, he was going to owe D'Artagnan fifty bucks. He didn't think he could bear the smug look on the lad's face if he had to pay up.

"East?" Aramis said, but he sounded uncertain.

Athos sighed. "Porthos, please check the map and see if you can find Wickford."

"You're going to let _him_ check?" Aramis asked, looking appalled. "He's the one that got us lost outside of Philadelphia!"

"Yes, but he's the one with the map," Athos said wearily. Behind them, Porthos was rifling through the cumbersome paper map, squinting down at the tiny labels.

Blessed silence fell over the vehicle. At first it was a relief, but then Athos noticed it seemed to be stretching on for too long. Athos gave Porthos another minute before saying pointedly, "Porthos?"

"I can't find Wickford," Porthos muttered. The maps were scattered across his lap.

"Try eastern Rhode Island," Aramis suggested, apparently calling a temporary truce. "It's a small state, it can't be that hard to find."

Porthos hesitated. "I can't find Rhode Island at all," he confessed.

"What?" Aramis snatched the maps from his hands and began flipping through them. "Unbelievable. You have maps for the entirety of New England apart from Rhode Island!"

"They probably thought it was too small to bother with," Athos said, resisting the urge to slam his forehead down on the wheel. "Have either of you seen any signs for nearby towns?"

"Why?" they chorused.

"We're going to need to stop and ask for directions."

"Athos, no!" Aramis said, looking aggrieved, at the same time as Porthos said, "No fuckin' way. We ain't lost."

"You said we were just five minutes ago," Athos pointed out.

"We don't need directions," said Aramis. They both looked surprisingly opposed to the idea.

Athos ignored them. A sign on the road ahead offered directions to Wickford Center, so Athos made the turn, ignoring Aramis and Porthos's squabbling. He tuned them out as he pulled through the center of a small, artsy looking town, eyeing the various storefronts for a likely looking stop.

At last, he pulled up outside what looked to be a local market and turned to his passengers. "One of you, go get directions."

"Why one of us?" Aramis asked, looking scandalized.

"Because you're the ones who got us lost," Athos said, turning a dark look on each one in turn. They fidgeted under his cold gaze.

"Athos, I'm sure we can find our way there without help," Aramis said, trying for a winning smile. It quailed under Athos's glare.

"Why are you both so eager to avoid asking for help?" Athos asked suspiciously.

Porthos answered, looking aggrieved. "I owe pup fifty bucks if we get lost."

Aramis turned to him, frowning. "So do I."

"Seems the lad has played us all for fools," Athos said, lips twitching up. "How clever of him."

"Wait, he was the last one with the map," Porthos said, a look of dawning comprehension on his face.

"And he sent me the directions on my phone!" Aramis said hotly.

"Gentlemen, I propose an alternate plan. We will go in, ask for directions, and soundly deny to D'Artagnan that we were ever lost at all," Athos said. Aramis and Porthos grinned at him.

"Sounds fair," Aramis said.

"S' what he deserves," added Porthos.

The three of them climbed out of the car and headed into the store to ask directions. Athos let Aramis and Porthos get the directions from the sweet older lady working the front counter. He was too busy formulating plans of revenge.

Oh, yes, D'Artagnan was going to pay.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - Pantheon AU
> 
> I was rather excited about this one, but I worry it got away from me a bit. Oh well.
> 
> Tags: OT3, c'mon you know the boys would ship Constagnan, mentions of Ninon/Flea

"Are you interfering with the mortals' lives again, Aramis?

Aramis started, looking around guiltily. "No," he said, trying to hide an arrow behind his back. "I'm just… observing."

Athos gave him an unimpressed look. "We're meant to guide from afar, not play with their fates."

"But Athos, we have openings to fill!" Aramis said. "I'm trying to see if there's anyone worthy, that's all. I think I've found a few candidates."

"Is that your job?" Athos asked. He was giving Aramis that stern look again.

"…No."

"Last time I checked, you were the god of love. Which means what you were really doing was making a couple of unsuspecting mortals fall head over heels in love with the wrong person. Again. Am I right?"

Aramis sighed. "Well, what else am I meant to do?" he asked rather petulantly. "It's my job!"

"Last time you meddled unnecessarily, everyone involved ended up dying!"

"Ninon and Flea forgave me. Eventually," Aramis said, wincing at the memory. It was not one of his finer moments. How could he have been expected to remember the fact that that particular society was remarkably unforgiving of same sex relationships? Especially from different social classes.

He thought they'd made a rather good show of it, himself. They'd gone down fighting. Even Athos had been impressed.

"Only because you sweet talked Death into releasing both their souls and then made them into gods too!" Athos said. "That was a great deal of trouble, you know. Richelieu fired him."

Aramis still thought that was rather unfair. Honestly, it was better for both of them that they died. At least now they were powerful enough that no one could separate them.

"I suppose that's why you took the position?" Aramis asked, already knowing the answer. "To cover for me every time I mess up? If you'd stayed the god of war, you wouldn't have to worry about that. You're the one who decided to vacate your spot and become Death instead, my love."

Athos raised one eyebrow. "Would you rather I'd kept the spot?"

"No," Aramis admitted. Athos had gotten him out of a number of scrapes. And the vacancy had proven beneficial to them both. "I'm glad you opened it up. But I don't see why the blame for that whole incident should fall on me. Everyone agrees now that it worked out for the best."

Athos sighed, shaking his head. "That time, yes, it did. But next time, let someone else fill the vacancies, alright? Or the next empty spot will be yours. Richelieu is already questioning your ability not to interfere." Athos paused, looking about as if only just realizing something. "Where's Porthos?"

Aramis bit his lip. "Um… not down fighting in that border skirmish," he said weakly.

"I don't know why I'm even surprised," Athos muttered darkly. "If it's not one of you interfering, it's the other. We're gods, not puppet masters!"

"He said it was going to be a great fight, he wanted to join in!" Aramis protested. He thought Athos was being rather unfair. Porthos had only been a god for a few decades. How exactly did Athos expect the god of war to resist a good battle?

"If there are more souls down below than there should be, he's going to have some accounting to do," Athos said crossly. He reached behind Aramis's back to tug out the incriminating arrow. "So, which of the mortals are now in love with the wrong people?"

Aramis sighed. "The girl with the red hair, and the boy with the silly smile," he admitted. "Down in that village."

Athos peered down, frowning. "Aramis, she's married!"

"Don't suppose you could kill her husband off for me?" Aramis asked hopefully. Athos glared. "No, I didn't think so."

"When you said you thought you'd found candidates, were you serious?" Athos asked after a moment.

Aramis beamed at him. "Oh yes. The same pair, actually. Alice is about ready to retire, so we need a new goddess of the hearth, and Porthos said the mortals are getting far too aggressive, so he wants to take on an apprentice!"

"He's only been the god of war for a few decades," Athos muttered, eyeing the mortal below. "What does he need an apprentice for?"

"All sorts o' stuff!" Porthos boomed, striding through the doorway behind them. His broadsword was strapped across his back, glinting red in the light.

"Kill anyone you shouldn't have?" Athos asked peevishly as Porthos unstrapped the sword.

"No one that didn't deserve it. What're you lookin' at?"  
"Candidates!" Aramis said excitedly, presenting his cheek for a kiss.

Porthos in between Aramis and Athos, slinging an arm around their necks. "What, the kid?"

"And the girl," Aramis said, gesturing with the arrow.

Porthos grunted. "He'd do. You already got 'em pining for each other?"

"Maybe," Aramis admitted. Athos glared at him from the other side of Porthos, but said nothing.

"Yeah, her husband's ready to kill the lad already, so unless we want another mess o' pulling souls outta the underworld, we ought to grab 'em fast," Porthos said.

"This is why we don't interfere!" Athos told Aramis pointedly. "Now I'm going to have to go convince Treville that we need these two and hope he can talk Richelieu into it before they both get killed!"

He turned, obviously ready to go, but Aramis reached out and caught his hand. "Sorry," he offered, flashing Athos a charming smile. "I don't mean to make extra work. But there's no need to running off so quickly, is there? We've only just come together again." He ran his fingers pointedly down Athos's chest.

Porthos, attuned as always to his intentions, shifted to Athos's other side, cutting off his departure. Athos glanced wryly between them. "If they're both dead when we're done, don't come crying to me," he muttered, a smile playing about his lips as he allowed Aramis to lead him to the chamber's large bed.

He wasn't the god of love for nothing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - ‘My self-esteem is shit right now and I noticed you just went through my entire face tag, tell me I’m pretty’ AU (general stalking on Facebook/Tumblr/Instagram)
> 
> Ugh, sorry this one is shorter than ComeHither's, I was at work all day and had no time to add an extra 500 words. 
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos ought to be working.

He ought to be working, and yet he'd been scrolling through Tumblr for the last hour, browsing mindlessly through a hundred different blogs.

Sadly, this was not a new experience to him. He should have known better than to click that damn blue icon when he was meant to be finishing his police reports, but it was so inviting, he hadn't been able to resist. And now, for the fourth night this week, he had been sucked into the endless vortex of procrastination which was Tumblr.

He passed a handful of text posts and paused to watch some gifs of puppies learning to swim. He had just about made up his mind to close the tab and get some actual work done when he noticed the top half of a selfie on his dash.

Curious, he scrolled further down, eyes widening as he took in the full picture. It was a guy, probably about his age, sitting on a dock with the sun setting behind him. Everything about the picture was perfect, from the wildness of the guy's dark curls to the slightly lopsided smile. Even the hot pink sunglasses were flawless.

A caption under the photo read, "Like what you see?"

Porthos didn't even think. Without looking away, he moved his keyboard over the little heart icon and clicked.

After another minute he tore his eyes away to check the source, noting the blog name as that of someone he'd only just started following.

If he'd known they posted selfies like this, he would've followed them sooner.

Intrigued, he clicked the link to their blog. A tasteful, somewhat artsy background appeared, with the selfie as the last post. A glance at the sidebar told Porthos the guy's name was Aramis. The rest was in Spanish, but he was pretty sure _veintiséis_ meant twenty-six. Only a year younger than him.

Below that were a couple of tabs. The name on one caught his eye, and he clicked it. It brought him to another page on the blog. Porthos grinned.

It had linked him to all Aramis's selfies.

He was in heaven.

Porthos scrolled through page after page, liking every single one he came across. He didn't even care that it might look decidedly stalkerish if Aramis noticed the flood of notifications. He'd been raised to be honest and upfront in all things, and he certainly wasn't going to hide the fact that he thought this guy was smoking hot.

Hopefully Aramis would take it as a compliment.

He was admiring his personal favorite selfie (Aramis in bed, sheets twisted around his waist, hair a mess, smirking into the camera) when his phone flashed, telling him he had a new message. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the picture to check who it was from. His heart nearly stopped.

The message was from Aramis.

Alarm bells started blaring in Porthos's head. He didn't want to read the message, because he was sure it was going to be bad. Aramis was probably telling him to stop being a stalker. But Treville didn't raise a coward, so with a sinking heart Porthos opened the message.

"I'm having a bad day. Tell me I'm hot."

Porthos blinked. This was… not what he expected. Not really knowing what else to do, he replied, "You're gorgeous. Sorry for stalking you. And that you're having a bad day."

He hit the reply button and waited, staring intently at his inbox. Had he said the right thing? Was that what Aramis had been looking for?

Another message popped up. "Was a nice balm for my wounded confidence. Got dumped today. Porthos, right? I checked your blog."

"Yeah, it is," Porthos wrote back immediately. "And who the hell would break up with you?"

Another few seconds, and then the message came back, "I know, right?"

Porthos smirked. "Clearly it's their loss," he wrote.

"Thank you," Aramis sent back. "That's what I thought."

Porthos was typing his reply when another message came through. "You seem nice. Message me on Skype instead. Here's my username. Tumblr is too annoying to message on."

Porthos blinked down at the screen, shocked. Had Aramis, the hottest guy he'd ever laid eyes on, just sent him his actual Skype address?

He spent so long staring at his phone that another message came through. "You gonna Skype me or what?"

This time, Porthos didn't hesitate. By some bizarre twist of fate, Aramis wanted to talk to him, and he'd be damned if he'd let an opportunity like this slip away. He logged into Skype hurriedly, typing in the username Aramis had given him.

"Sorry, Skype was loading," he typed as soon as his contact request was accepted.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Aramis sent back. "You may continue telling me that I'm pretty."

"It'd be easier to do that if I could see you," Porthos said, grinning to himself. As far as he was concerned, this was just a bit of harmless flirting. He'd be satisfied if he could cheer up this hot stranger a bit.

He did not expect his screen to suddenly ring with an incoming call.

Oh shit.

Porthos panicked. He was halfway to kicking his laptop across the room when some brighter part of his brain reached out and clicked the answer button.

A grainy video popped up on the screen. A moment later it resolved itself to show Aramis grinning cautiously at the camera. His hair was even wilder than in his pictures.

"You gonna turn your camera on?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Shit, sorry," Porthos muttered, fumbling for the right button. His own grainy image popped up in the corner of his screen.

"There you are," Aramis said, his grin widening. "If I'd known you looked like that, I'd have demanded some selfies in return."

"Nah, I don't take any," Porthos said, relaxing.

Aramis's grin did not diminish. "Well, we're going to have to change that, aren't we?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. …I mean, sure, I guess you can come down here, but… okay…
> 
> Tags: Constagnan being perfect, Porthos being an annoying big brother, mentions of possible OT3

Constance was being stood up.

She stared moodily into her drink, wondering how things had got to this point. She'd thought the last two dates had gone really well, and she'd been looking forward to tonight. And now D'Artagnan was nowhere in sight and the bartender was starting to give her sympathetic looks. She hadn't been stood up in years (probably because she hadn't really dated in years), but the feeling of it was just as awful as she remembered.

D'Artagnan had better have a damn good reason for this.

She knew she really ought to just leave, but she kept hoping he would show up, full of apologies about traffic or work or alien abductions or _something_ , and then they would have a lovely dinner and put it behind them and maybe tonight would be the night. Leaving would mean acknowledging the fact that he'd ditched her without calling, which was unforgivable. She really liked him.

And she'd worn her prettiest lace bra. What a waste.

Constance tossed back the last of her drink and sighed, avoiding the eye of the overly sympathetic bartender. Reluctantly, she slid some money across the counter and reached for her jacket. Another night gone.

At that moment, her phone rang. She grabbed for it with an eagerness that would have been embarrassing if she'd been paying attention and answered it without even looking at the number.

"Constance?" came D'Artagnan's voice. He sounded tinny. She breathed a sigh of relief, settling back on the bar stool. At least he had called before she left the restaurant. She could forgive him now.

"Where are you?" she asked sternly. Even though she was going to forgive him provided he had a good enough reason, there was no point in letting him off the hook too early. Let him squirm a bit first.

"Umm…" D'Artagnan hesitated. "I'm in the ER."

Constance stiffened, her hand tightening on her phone. "What? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan said, speaking quietly. She imagined he didn't want to disturb the other patients. "I just had a motorcycle accident. Nothing serious, I swear, just a few cuts and bruises, but it'll be a while before they can see me."

"You have a motorcycle?" Constance asked, confused and a bit impressed. She'd have thought that might have come up by the second date.

"No, my car broke down, so I was borrowing it from a friend," D'Artagnan explained. "Probably wasn't a good idea." A muffled voice came through the phone. "Oh, sorry, I gotta go, I'm not supposed to be using this in here."

"Wait!" Constance said quickly. "Which hospital did you go to?"

"Noble," said D'Artagnan, sounding puzzled. "Why?"

Before Constance could answer, the voice came through again, sounding sharper this time. "Shit, Constance, I really gotta go, I'm sorry I had to cancel. I'll call you tomorrow!" She didn't even have time to say goodbye before he hung up.

Constance gazed thoughtfully at her phone. She had two options here. On the one hand, she could just head home. It was late, and she was tired. D'Artagnan obviously expected her to just go home and go to bed. On the other hand…

Her mind made up, she rose to her feet, tugging on her jacket as she made her way out of the restaurant. The hospital was a good thirty minutes away, but it was a Friday night, and the Emergency Room was probably crowded. D'Artagnan wouldn't be called in for a while unless his condition was more serious than he'd let on.

The thought made her shiver in the evening chill.

It took longer than she would have liked to flag down a taxi and give the driver her destination, but eventually she was on her way. She didn't chat with the driver like she normally would, the faint twist of worry in her stomach keeping her silent and withdrawn for the duration of the ride.

At last, they arrived at the hospital. She paid the driver quickly and hurried in, following the signs to the Emergency Room. She pushed through the doors to find herself in a large, rather crowded waiting room. She scanned the rows of chairs until she found a familiar flop of dark hair. D'Artagnan had wedged himself in a corner, scrolling through his phone left-handed. He looked utterly bored.

He caught sight of her when she was only halfway across the waiting room. For a moment, all she saw on his face was surprise. Then a small smile replaced the shock, as if he couldn't believe she'd come all the way over.

"What are you doing here?" he called, making as if to stand up.

"Sit down, idiot," Constance said, waving him back into the chair. She didn't want him standing up; he might have hurt his leg. She realized still had no idea what he'd done to wind up in here, really. As she got closer, she looked him over, searching for obvious injuries. There was a cut on his cheekbone, a bruise on his forehead, and his entire right hand was wrapped in a layer of icepacks, but otherwise, he was unscathed.

"You didn't have to come over," D'Artagnan said when she finally reached him. "I'm fine."

"Yes, well, thought I might see for myself," Constance said lightly, dropping into the chair beside him. Their knees brushed. "My other plans for the evening fell through, you know."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Sorry about that. And thanks for coming," he added, grinning at her.

"Of course." She wondered if he knew that ridiculously huge smile of his could melt her heart. "So tell me exactly what happened."

D'Artagnan sighed, looking away. "Well, my car broke down this morning, so I took it to a friend of mine to look over. He said there's something wrong with the engine, and it's gonna take a few days to fix. I told him I had a date tonight that I had to get to, so he offered to lend me his motorcycle."

"Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?" Constance asked, already sensing where this story was going.

D'Artagnan gave her a guilty look. "…No."

"You could have just called me," Constance said. "Or, you know, a cab."

"It's a really cool motorcycle though," D'Artagnan said earnestly.

"I'm sure it is," Constance said, sighing. "So how'd you crash it?"  
"I didn't crash it!" said D'Artagnan, looking indignant at the very thought. "I, uh…well, I sort of knocked it over."

"You knocked it over," Constance repeated.

"Yeah. On top of myself." D'Artagnan sheepishly held up his icepack wrapped hand. "Caught my hand between the garage floor and the ground."

"You didn't even make it out of the garage?" Constance was fighting the urge to laugh.

D'Artagnan shook his head, flushing. "I looked cool while I was sitting on it though!" he insisted. "I'm gonna ask Porthos for lessons."

"Hope my bike looks better than your 'and," a gruff voice said from somewhere above them. Constance looked up to find a mountain of a man looming over them, grinning down at D'Artagnan with a paternal air.

"Porthos! You didn't have to come!" D'Artagnan said, smiling up at him. So this was the guy who'd given him the motorcycle without bothering to make sure he could ride it.

"Had to make sure my baby hadn't done you any real damage," Porthos said, dropping down into a chair on D'Artagnan's other side.

"If you'd given him lessons before sending him off, it would have done even less," Constance said irritably.

Porthos stared at her for a moment, looking surprised. Between them, D'Artagnan looked like he was plotting his escape.

Then Porthos threw his head back and began to laugh. "You must be Constance," he said, leaning forward to offer his hand. "I like you. You're fiery."

Constance frowned but shook it. "You know me?"

Porthos grinned wickedly. "Know you? Pup 'ere won't shut up about you!"

D'Artagnan was beginning to look like he'd like very much to sink into the ground and let the earth swallow him whole.

"That so?" Constance asked, starting to smile now herself. "What's he said, exactly?"

"Well-"

"Porthos!" D'Artagnan wailed, his voice full of betrayal.

Porthos just laughed. "All good things, I promise," he told Constance before glancing at D'Artagnan. "Sorry for messin' up your date, pup. Aramis swears he thought you knew how to ride."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Why would he think that?"

"He thinks ownin' a leather jacket means you c'n ride a motorcycle," Porthos said, shrugging. "Did the same thing to Athos, but he got out unscathed. How's my baby look?"

"There's not a scratch on her," D'Artagnan told him.

"Good. I was worried."

"You were more worried about your bike than my broken hand?"

Constance smiled, letting the banter wash over her. This was better than a dinner date. With a happy sigh, she let herself lean against D'Artagnan's side.

Perhaps she ought to offer to teach him how to ride a motorcycle.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - Met standing in the reallllllly long queue for the dressing rooms au
> 
> Tags: Athos/Porthos, established Athos/Aramis

Athos shifted his weight, grumbling under his breath as he tried to find a way to hold all of these godforsaken garments without toppling over. When Aramis had begged and pleaded to go shopping today, Athos hadn't realized they were apparently restocking Aramis's entire wardrobe. And his own, judging by the sheer volume of clothing he was carrying.

Aramis, naturally, was nowhere to be seen. He'd taken one look at the enormous line leading up to the dressing rooms and dumped his armful of clothes on Athos, dashing back down the aisles with a call of, "I'll just grab a few more things!"

Clever bastard.

Athos sighed impatiently and shifted again. Somewhere within the pile, he felt something begin to slide. Cursing, he tried to grab it but wound up dropping a shirt and a pair of jeans in the process. They landed on the floor near his shoes.

He eyed them balefully. There was no way he could pick them up without dropping more of his armload of clothing.

Athos was just starting to wonder if he could kick them along to the dressing room when they were both snatched from the floor.

"Need a hand?" a gruff voice asked.

He peered over the mountain of clothes to find a man standing in front of him, clutching the errant garments and smirking. A scar crossed his left eye, giving him a roguish look. Or perhaps that was the crooked smile that seemed to say the man had looked, and liked what he saw.

"I'm handling it," Athos said coolly. Aramis had often berated him for letting opportunities pass by, but he wasn't the type to simply throw caution to the wind.

"Rubbish," the man said, white teeth flashing as he smiled again. "You're about three seconds from toppling over and bein' crushed beneath the Mount Everest of clothes. I c'n carry some." He looked pointedly down at his own hands to show Athos he was carrying only a couple of shirts.

Athos sighed. He hated accepting help, but his dignity would be bruised far more if he was buried beneath a pile of clothing in public. He gave the man a resigned nod and allowed him to scoop the top half of the pile into his arms.

"That was probably smart, this much weight could've killed you. I'm Porthos. This all yours?"

"Athos, and no, it's not," Athos replied, deciding that since he was now stuck with the man he could be friendly. Or at least try to be.

"Boyfriend?" Porthos asked, eyes flashing with something like disappointment as the line shifted forward.

"Nuisance," Athos replied wryly. He didn't know why he'd said that, exactly. Some part of him didn't want Porthos to be discouraged. Aramis would never forgive him.

He might not forgive himself, either.

"Ahh, gotcha," Porthos said, grinning at him. "Got rather flashy taste, does he?"

"He's a bloody peacock," Athos muttered, glaring at the array of bright colors and shiny metallic prints in the pile before him.

Porthos laughed. "Sounds interestin'."

"Stick around, he'll be back to try on all this nonsense." Athos muttered, stepping forward again. Something about Porthos made Athos want to keep him around. "Or at least, he better be. Lord knows I'm not putting these ridiculous clothes on."

"That's a shame, they might suit you," Porthos teased, eyes flashing with mischief.

Athos snorted. "I would not be caught dead in some of these," he said, his eyes lingering on a bright turquoise shirt near the top of Porthos's pile.

"What, this one?" Porthos asked, following his gaze. "I think it would look fantastic. Bring out your eyes."

Athos felt his face redden. When was the last time someone other than Aramis had complimented him? He'd almost forgotten how to respond. Thankfully, he was saved from replying when Aramis shoved through the line to reach him, clutching an impossible number of items again,

"You've only been gone five minutes," Athos muttered, staring at the pile in dismay.

"I need these, _querido_ , they're perfect for going out to- oh, who's this?" Aramis had just noticed Porthos, who was watching him with the expression of a child who's been told Christmas is coming early.

"You must be Aramis," Porthos said, somehow juggling his armful of garments to get one hand free. "I've heard a lot about you. I'm Porthos."

Aramis accepted the proffered hand with a sly smile. "All good things, I trust."

"Of course," Athos murmured, smirking when Aramis shot him a suspicious look. "What could I possibly have to say against you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Aramis said breezily. "Oh, look, we're at the front of the line." He ignored Athos's dark look and darted forward to meet the fitting room lady.

"Oh, sorry, we only allow ten items in at a time," the lady said, eyeing the massive piles in their arms.

Aramis's face fell. "What?"

Athos sighed. "It's fine, _mon cher_. I'll wait out here and you can swap out as you try everything on."

"You can't hold it all by yourself!" Aramis said, looking disappointed. "And I wanted your opinion."

"You know very well it's all going to look amazing-" Athos began.

Porthos cut him off. "Nah, it's fine, I'll wait too. Can't let Athos be crushed underneath all these fancy clothes." He sent Athos a pleased grin. "And if you need advice, just walk out wearin' it."

"Ahh," Aramis said, beginning to smile again. "A personal fashion show, is it? Well, who am I to deny a fan." He disappeared toward the dressing room with a wink.

Athos and Porthos ducked to one side to wait out of the way of the line with the rest of Aramis's clothes. "Didn't you need to try something on?" Athos asked Porthos.

"Uh, well, I actually already know these will fit me," Porthos admitted. "I just wanted an excuse to stick around."

Athos blinked at him for a moment before he felt his lips twitch into a grin. Porthos echoed it.

Clever bastard.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - I decided to flip a coin about every decision in my life for a week and that’s how we ended up on a date
> 
> Well, this one got a bit smutty at the end. About to go eat pizza and write tomorrow's because I'm riding the high of finishing a 10 page paper in four hours! Wooo!
> 
> Tags: Established Porthos/Athos, Aramis/Athos

Athos fingered the coin in his pocket, scowling at the menu in front of him. Specialty drinks were being advertised across it. A picture of one splashed across the upper corner. It was pink. There was an umbrella in it. Athos hated it.

"Go on, then," Porthos said, leaning across the bar, a grin stretched across his face. "Flip for it."

"This is childish," Athos snapped.

"You agreed when I said you oughta try loosenin' up," Porthos replied, not backing down. "This is as good a way as any."

"Flipping a coin to make every decision is infantile and a pointless waste of time," Athos muttered, pulling the coin from his pocket.

"It's an adventure, love," Porthos said, looking far too smug. "Heads you can have a glass o' wine, tails you gotta pick one o' these."

Athos glowered at him. Realizing Porthos wasn't going to back down, he flipped the coin into the air and caught it neatly on his hand. Porthos barked with laughter.

Tails.

Athos stared in dismay at the list of specialty drinks, wondering if any of them were strong enough to make him forget that what he was drinking was brighter than a peacock's tail.

"Well, which one you havin'?" Porthos asked, watching him with delight.

"Don't you have other customers?" Athos snapped, looking pointedly along the bar. Unfortunately, it wasn't very crowded.

"Gotta serve my boyfriend first, right?" Porthos asked, still smirking.

"Heads I break up with you," Athos muttered, flipping the coin again.

Tails.

"I'll have the blue one," Athos snarled, sweeping the coin back into his pocket. "You're going to pay for this later."

"Oh, promises," Porthos said, chuckling heatedly as he moved off to make Athos's drink. Athos glared after him. This had all been Porthos's idea. He had been perfectly happy with his life. Everything was organized, and there were no surprises. He ought to blame D'Artagnan, really. The pup had been the one to point out last night that anytime they all went out to eat, Athos ordered the same meal. He'd even get the same vintage for his wine if it was available.

Athos didn't see anything wrong with it. It simply meant that he knew what he liked. But Porthos had gotten that dreaded thoughtful look and come up to Athos earlier today with a quarter in one hand and a shit-eating grin on his face.

Naturally, Athos had tried to refuse the entire situation, but Porthos was clever, damn him. He'd offered to let Athos out of his silly little plan if Athos flipped the coin once and got heads.

The coin had landed on tails. Athos was beginning to think the damn thing was weighted.

Porthos's return interrupted his sullen musings. His lover grinned at him as he set a drink before Athos. It was electric blue.

"There was no umbrella in the picture," Athos growled. Porthos just winked before heading off to serve someone at the other end of the bar.

Someone sat down on his right a few moments later, but Athos ignored them. He stared moodily into his drink until Porthos returned to get the stranger's drink order. When the stranger asked for a minute to think, Porthos looked over at Athos. "Want somethin' to eat?"

"No," Athos muttered.

"Now love, that's not how we do things," Porthos admonished. Athos could sense the stranger watching them curiously. "Flip for it."

Athos growled savagely, but Porthos just grinned. "Tails I skip the food," he snarled, yanking the coin out and flipping it. He missed his hand, and it bounced across the bar to land beside the stranger's hand.

"Tails," Athos said, smirking. "No food."

Porthos glared but turned back to the stranger. "Know what you want now?" he asked. Athos blinked at the tone in Porthos's voice and turned his head to see who he was talking to.

A few stools over, a man was sitting, watching them both with an interested expression. His dark eyes looked almost black in the dim bar lighting. He was startlingly attractive. "I'd like him to buy me a drink," he said, meeting Athos's eyes.

Athos could almost feel Porthos grinning. "He'd love to."

"Don't I have to flip for it?" Athos muttered. He was not in the mood to talk, even to handsome strangers.

"By all means," said the stranger, smiling at him as he slid the coin back. "Heads you buy me a drink."

"Fine," Athos sighed, flipping the coin. He expected it to be tails again, so when the coin landed face up, all he could do was stare blankly.

"Excellent," the stranger purred. "I'll have what he's having." Porthos gave him a wink and hurried off to fetch another drink.

"I'm Aramis," the stranger said, swapping stools so he was sitting beside Athos. He did his best to keep his attention away from the man's mouth, but it was difficult.

"Athos," Athos grunted. Porthos returned with the Aramis's drink. This one had two umbrellas. Aramis accepted it with a wink and smiled at Porthos as he left.

"So, what's with the coin?" Aramis asked, pulling the electric blue concoction towards himself.

"Porthos thinks I am not spontaneous enough," Athos muttered, trying to focus on his drink and not the graceful line of Aramis's jaw. He was far too close to him.

"Porthos being our mutual friend?" Aramis asked, jerking his chin at where Porthos was serving a customer across the bar.

"He is not my friend," Athos said darkly. "He is my nemesis."

Aramis laughed. "So this coin thing is supposed to help you become more spontaneous?" he asked curiously.

"Apparently," said Athos. "I can't imagine what he hopes it will accomplish."

"Maybe he thinks it will open you up to new experiences," Aramis murmured. "A bit of excitement, perhaps." Athos made the mistake of glancing over to find those dark eyes watching him with open interest.

He wasn't drunk enough for this.

"My life is plenty exciting," Athos said, grabbing at his drink as if it could fend off Aramis's advances. Part of him wanted to play along, and part of him wanted to hide under the bar.

"Well then, I'm sure you could handle the excitement of giving your phone number to a complete stranger?" Aramis asked. Athos could see him grinning from the corner of his eye.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked dryly, hoping Aramis couldn't tell his heart rate had just increased dramatically.

"So I could call you," Aramis replied, undaunted.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that," Athos muttered, just to see what Aramis would do.

Aramis smiled more broadly. "Based on the looks he keeps giving me, I think he would like it very much."

Silently, Athos cursed Porthos's ability to flirt even from across a room. "I suppose I should flip for it then," Athos said, forcing himself not to sound eager. "Call it."

"Heads," Aramis murmured, watching him intently.

The coin slapped down into Athos's palm. Heads.

Aramis was already pulling out his phone. "I win," he purred. Athos sighed and rattled off his phone number. He probably should be alarmed that a stranger now had his cell number, but he found himself just hoping Aramis would call.

Aramis kept him talking for a good half an hour, during which Athos found out that Aramis was nurse, loved cats, had a motorcycle, and, most importantly, was single. He didn't even realized they'd both finished their drinks until Aramis slid his glass away and said, "Fancy another wager?"

Athos blinked at him. That drink had been stronger than he'd thought. He was pleasantly buzzed. "Sure," he said at last, deciding that he would give the whole spontaneity lark a shot. "Can't leave, though. Not 'til Porthos's shift is over."

"We don't have to leave for what I have in mind," Aramis said, grinning at him.

"Which is?"

"We flip this coin again," Aramis explained, pulling it towards him. "Tails, I suck you off in the bathroom."

The temperature in the room rose several degrees. "And heads?" Athos managed.

Aramis's grin grew wider. "You suck me off."

"Win-win," Athos said, trying not to sound like all the blood in his body was headed rapidly south. "Shall I do the honors?"

"Allow me," said Aramis, tossing the coin up. It came down in his hand. Athos couldn't make it out.

"Tails," Aramis breathed, licking his lips. Athos found himself very focused on Aramis's tongue.

"Porthos will feel left out," Athos murmured, not sure why he was delaying.

Aramis grinned and slipped the coin into Athos's pocket. "We'll flip again after to see if we should invite him to join the fun."

"Sounds fair," Athos said, last reservation gone.

Aramis pushed back his stool, rising gracefully to his feet. "Shall we?"

Athos followed, already picturing Aramis's mouth on his cock. He'd have missed out on this if the decision had been left in his hands.

Maybe the coin thing wasn't such a bad idea.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - Younger siblings are best friends AU
> 
> Tags: Athos/Aramis

Sometimes, Aramis hated being the oldest. Was it too much to ask to come home from college for the weekend and just relax? Every time he came home it was, "Drive me to the grocery store," or, "Drive me to the mall!" His sisters were insatiable. Sofia was old enough to drive now too. Aramis didn't see why it always had to be him.

He loved his sisters to death, but they were driving him crazy.

A knock on the door distracted him from his work. "Yes?" he called wearily.

The door cracked open. "Aramis?" Elena called, her eyes peeping past the edge of the door.

Aramis winced internally. If it had been one of the others, he could have said no to whatever they wanted and gotten on with his work. But Elena was the youngest, and he'd never been able to deny her anything.

"Yes, _querida_?" he said.

She pushed the door fully open and darted into the room. "Brother, will you take me to the cinema?" she asked, dark eyes full of hope.

Damn her, she was adorable.

"Why?" he asked, already setting his laptop aside. "What do you want to see?"

"Well…" Elena hesitated, chewing on a strand of hair. "I actually just need a ride so I can go with a friend."

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "Mamá and Papá are okay with this?" he asked. She was only twelve. He wasn't sure she ought to be at the movies alone.

She hesitated again. "Well, I told them I would be going with you, and they said it was okay," she said.

"So I'm your chaperone?" Aramis asked, fighting the urge to groan.

"No! I'm old enough to go alone. You can go do whatever you want after you drop me off, just tell Mamá that you were with me," Elena said, flashing him a charming smile.

"That smile doesn't work on me," Aramis said sternly. "I invented it." Elena pouted. "Who is it you want to go with?"

"My new friend Thomas!" Elena said, brightening instantly.

Aramis frowned. "Do I know Thomas?"

"You should! He's so clever and funny. We're going to see _Home_ ," she added as an afterthought.

Aramis smirked. Sure they were. If he knew his sister, they'd be sneaking into _Unfriended_ as soon as his back was turned. She was just like him. "Fine. I'll bring you. Maybe I can get some work done in the Starbucks next door. Not like I'll be able to come back here."

Elena squealed excitedly and ran over to hug him, vanishing out the door a second later with a call of, "Be ready in five minutes."

Aramis shook his head after her. Oh, to be young and easily excitable again.

He dressed quickly, hurried along by Elena outside his door chanting, "Hurry, hurry!" By the time she dragged him out to the car, he had resorted to hoping his clothing at least matched.

The drive to the cinema was about thirty minutes, which they passed singing loudly to Billy Joel from Aramis's iPod. When they finally pulled into the parking lot, Elena was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Wait for me," Aramis said as she tried to dart out the door. "I want to make sure your friend is actually here."

"He'll be here," Elena said impatiently, but she did wait for him to follow her across the parking lot.

They'd barely made it through the doors before Elena grinned and ran off across the lobby towards a boy about her age standing next to a guy with his back to them. Aramis could already hear their excited babbling from across the room.

Elena's arrival caught the attention of Thomas's chaperone, who turned. Aramis nearly stopped in the center of the lobby. The guy looked to be about his age, with dark hair and icy blue eyes. He was gorgeous.

Aramis fervently prayed that his clothes did in fact match.

Elena and Thomas were now hurrying over to the ticket booth, so Aramis forced himself to keep walking, thinking he should at least introduce himself. The guy looked up as he approached, blue eyes betraying a hint of interest. It was enough to make Aramis smile charmingly.

"Thomas's brother, I presume?" he said, glancing over at where the kids were now in line.

"Athos," the man said, looking over as well. "You get roped into chaperone duty?"

"Aramis, and yes, I did," Aramis said, sighing dramatically. "My baby sister certainly knows how to tug on one's heartstrings."

Athos huffed softly. "I can't deny Thomas anything," he admitted.

Aramis grinned at the confession. "What are the chances they're actually going to what they said they're going to?" he asked.

"Zero," Athos said, smirking faintly. "Thomas is a terrible liar. I'm not up to speed with the latest films. What do you think they're really going to?"

" _Unfriended_ ," said Aramis. "Horror movie. Rated R."

"What irresponsible brothers we are, letting them get away with that," Athos murmured. "And now we're stuck here until they're finished."

Aramis glanced at him. There was something like an invitation in his voice. "Indeed. Someone should really keep an eye on them."

Athos's smirk grew. "I agree. But I'm not really a fan of horror movies. I find them very boring."

Aramis grinned. Now _that_ was an invitation. "I'm sure you could find something to occupy you," he said.  
Blue eyes flicked to meet his, tinged with amusement. "Oh, I'm sure I could. I suppose it really is our duty to watch over them. Though they mustn't realize what we're doing."

"Absolutely not," Aramis agreed. "They might think we don't trust them."

"We probably ought to sit in the back," Athos said. "I'll get the tickets."

"I'll fetch the popcorn," Aramis replied, hardly believing his good luck. "We should enter separately, so they don't suspect." Athos nodded in agreement and headed off toward the ticket booth.

Aramis watched him go, grinning. Screw homework. He had something far more interesting to do this afternoon.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - You keep using my preferred shower stall in the floor bathrooms when I’m trying to get ready for class
> 
> When I updated yesterday, the fic never showed up on the list as being updated for some reason, so if anyone missed it, go back and read it!
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos loved his dorm building. The rooms were big, the windows opened, the doors didn't squeak, and the elevator was in working order.

But the bathrooms were a nightmare.

Each floor had one communal bathroom, and everyone on the floor was expected to use it. The toilet and sink area was fine, not much to complain about there, but the showers were a _disaster_.

No one knew what was wrong with them, exactly. The rumor was they hadn't been renovated since the house had been built in the fifties. Only one on his floor really worked. It had perfect water pressure, proper temperature control, and the largest stall to boot.

The rest… well, a guy would be lucky to make it through a single shower without the temperature wavering more than ten degrees. The heads were busted, so water would spray in every direction. Sometimes they would shut off without warning. More than once, Porthos had walked in to see some poor sod hopping across the bathroom with a towel around his waist and suds in his hair, looking for a new stall.

This week, he was in luck. Finals were ending, which meant that a lot of people on his floor had already cleared out. The demand for shower stalls was at an all-time low, and Porthos fully intended to take advantage of this fact.

The first sign of trouble came when he pushed open the bathroom door and heard water already running. Scowling, he hurried through to the shower area. Music was playing faintly from within. Sure enough, someone was already in the coveted stall.

Porthos ran through a mental list in his head. There was no one on the floor who should still be here. And no one he knew listened to what sounded like Spanish pop songs.

But there wasn't really anything he could do about it. He had to be at a study group in twenty minutes, so there wasn't time to wait for the stranger to get out. Seething, he headed into one of the less shitty stalls.

The guy still wasn't out when he finished.

Porthos considered saying something, but it seemed wrong to confront someone while they were still in the shower, so he simply left. At least he could use the good stall tomorrow.

He overslept the next morning and found the stall already taken, along with every other shower that was even moderately functional. Apparently every guy left on his floor was showering that morning. Porthos wound up skipping the shower, promising himself he would get it tomorrow.

The next day he woke up early and headed straight for the bathroom. He was going to get his favorite stall today.

He opened the door. Spanish music drifted out.

No fucking way.

He stormed down the aisle and into the shower section. The curtain of the best stall was drawn, and the music was coming from behind it. Porthos knew all of his floormates were at finals right now, so there was no way this guy was from his floor. He was an interloper.

Something had to be done.

Porthos still wasn't rude enough to shout at a guy while he was in the shower, so decided to wait it out. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed against his chest, and stared at the drawn curtain. The guy would have to get out eventually.

Twenty minutes later, Porthos had learned the chorus to three separate Spanish pop songs, and the guy was _still_ in the shower. He was on the verge of stepping forward and ripping the curtain from the stall to give the guy a piece of his mind.

At long last, the water shut off. Porthos heard a rustle as the inner curtain was drawn back. The guy must be in the small area outside the shower stall itself right now. He tensed in anticipation, ready to confront the interloper as soon as he came out.

The curtain flew back, and Porthos found himself confronted by a Greek god. Dark curls were plastered to his forehead, tiny drops of water were clinging to his eyelashes, and his towel was hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Words failed him.

"Can I help you with something?" the guy asked, recovering his composure remarkably quickly for a man in nothing more than a bath towel.

"Who the hell are you?" Porthos managed, his finely crafted argument failing him. "You ain't from this floor."

"Ah," the guy said, shifting. A puddle was forming beneath him. "Well, no, I'm not. My name's Aramis. I live on the floor above."

"So why the hell are you down 'ere stealing our water?" Porthos growled, recovered some of his earlier ire. It helped if he remembered not to look at Aramis's toned chest.

"All of our showers are broken," Aramis said. "A friend mentioned this one was working. I thought everyone was gone. I didn't realize I was keeping it from someone." He ended his sentence with the most charming smile Porthos had even seen. It was so bright, he felt almost as if he should be blinking sunspots from his vision.

"Yeah, well, next time ask first," Porthos said gruffly, stepping aside.

"I really am sorry. Perhaps I could make it up to you, -?"

"Porthos," he grunted, sensing the guy was looking for a name.

"Porthos. I've no exams today. When you're finished with your shower, perhaps we could go for coffee. My treat."

"Alright," Porthos said cautiously. He wasn't one to turn down coffee with a guy that looked like that. "Twenty minutes."

"Make it thirty," Aramis said, waltzing past him. "I did deprive you of the shower, after all." Porthos barely heard his words. All he could see was that damned towel slipping lower with every step. And then Aramis was out the door.

"Damned tease," he muttered to himself, unable to keep from grinning. He was really looking forward to coffee.

But he was going to need a cold shower first.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - I found your USB drive still in the computer
> 
> Tags: Constagnan because why not? Adorable babies

D'Artagnan dropped his bag on the floor and collapsed into a chair. The library was crowded at this time of night, but at least he'd found one free computer. He had an exam in the morning and he still needed to review a thousand criminal case studies. With a weary sigh, he logged into the computer.

It was going to be a long night.

He rummaged through his bag for his USB, intending to pull up the study guide Athos had helped him organize. He reached around to plug it in only to find another USB still in the computer.

D'Artagnan blinked and peered around the computer. Sure enough, an unmarked USB was sticking out of the slot, blinking red to indicate it was still plugged in. He stared at it. It wasn't like losing your USB was unusual, but he'd never found one before. He almost reached around to pull it out when he remembered he should at least eject it properly.

He grabbed the mouse and moved to the eject button, but his finger hesitated before he could click. What exactly was he going to do with it? He could turn it in at the front desk, but the library had a terrible reputation of losing things from their lost and found. If he wanted the person to get it back, he should probably try to find them himself.

Maybe there was a document in the USB with the person's name on it. D'Artagnan didn't like the idea of snooping, but he'd want his returned to him if he lost it, so he quickly went into he USB drive and clicked through a couple of folders. One near the bottom caught his eye.

_Thesis Research and Drafts._

That sounded promising. He opened the most recent document, hoping only to find a name. Instead, he found a full thirty page thesis paper that appeared, to his untrained eye, to be almost complete. It was about the recent changes to the criminal justice system over the last few years, which had D'Artagnan skimming it for interesting information. It was brilliantly written. But no name.

Damn.

D'Artagnan really hoped whoever this USB belonged to had another copy of their thesis saved somewhere. He clicked through another couple of documents just to make sure there wasn't anything he'd missed, but he still couldn't find a name.

Stymied, he leaned back in the chair, thinking intently. There was a good chance the drive's owner would notice its loss and return for it. he was planning to stay all evening anyway, so he would simply hold on to it until he left. If they hadn't come for it by then, he'd leave it at the help desk.

D'Artagnan nodded to himself, satisfied with the plan. He really ought to take the USB out now and begin studying, but he found himself drawn back to the thesis document. Some of the things in it seemed closely related to what he was studying, and it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for next year. He glanced furtively around to make sure no one was heading in his direction and turned his attention to the document.

He read it twice before he finally tore himself away and got to work on his actual studying. He decided to leave the USB in the slot in case he wanted to return to it and plugged his on in alongside, opening up his study guide. It was starting to get late, and some of the computers were emptying as people headed home to get some rest before exams. The seats on either side of him were now open, so he spread his materials out and got to work.

He made it through about a third of the guide when he found something he'd read more about in the thesis, so he clocked back to the longer document. Right then, he felt someone walk up behind him.

D'Artagnan spun his chair around to see if the USB's owner had returned and found himself less than a foot away from the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

"Uh…" he mumbled eloquently.

"Sorry to bother you," she said, "but have you seen my flash drive?" The girl glanced past him, eyebrows rising. "Isn't that my thesis?" She was starting to look very alarmed.

"I haven't messed with it," D'Artagnan said quickly. "I just read it."

"You read my thesis?" she asked, now looking confused. "Why?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I'm studying criminal justice. I opened it to see if I could find your name to bring your USB back, and it just seemed really interesting, so I read it. It's brilliant."

"Oh," the girl said, smiling slightly as if pleased. "Well, thank you. And my name is Constance."

"I'm D'Artagnan," he said, smiling back at her. She really was breathtaking. "I'll, uh, get that for you." He turned around and quickly closed her thesis, ejecting the USB. Constance came up behind him while he pulled it out and glanced over his shoulder.

"Criminal Psychology?" she asked. "With Fletcher?"

"That's right," he said, handing her the flash drive. Her fingers were soft where they brushed his hand.

"Hard class," she said, slipping it into her pocket.

D'Artagnan groaned. "Tell me about it. My friend helped me make this study guide, and I'm still definitely going to fail."

"I could help you study if you like," Constance said. "I TA'd for the class last semester."

"Really?" D'Artagnan asked, hardly daring to hope. "That would be amazing! But don't you have work too?"

"I just need to edit this," Constance said, pulling out her USB as she sat down at the computer beside him. "I'll make you a deal: you tell me where I need to make changes, and I'll help you with any questions you've got."

"Deal!" D'Artagnan said, grinning at her. He had a feeling he wouldn't be paying much attention to his studies, but he found he didn't really care.

Constance was more interesting than his exams.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - Strangers who end up on the kiss cam at a sporting event
> 
> Tags: established Portamis, Aramis/Athos, mentioned Constagnan

"Why are we here again?" Aramis asked, following Porthos through the crowded entry. The stadium was packed and they weren't even inside yet.

"Because we've got great seats. Practically courtside!" Porthos said, grinning with childish excitement. "Treville gave me the tickets, it's gonna be amazing!"

"If Treville gave them to you, why am I being dragged along?" Aramis asked mulishly, ducking behind Porthos to avoid being swept away by the flood of humanity. He was lucky his boyfriend had such broad shoulders. Porthos was cutting through the crowd with ease. Aramis just had to follow.

"He got called away for something important by Richelieu, that's why," Porthos said. "Let's hurry, I wanna see these seats."

Aramis sighed, resigning himself to a night surrounded by overly enthusiastic basketball fans, and followed Porthos through to the main stadium.

Finding their seats proved to be a complicated procedure. The stadium was so crowded that they could barely get a glimpse of the seat numbers, and every employee was swamped. Aramis looped his fingers through Porthos's belt and clung on grimly, wondering if Porthos would agree to let him leave if he got trampled.

After what felt like hours, they finally found their seats. Porthos was right; they were practically courtside. Treville must have spent quite a bit on these. Aramis made a mental note to tease him later about spoiling his children.

"Did you want a beer? I can grab one," Porthos said as they sat down.

Aramis glanced back at the crowd still seething beyond the end of their row. "If you want to brave that, be my guest."

Porthos frowned. "I'll get a couple during the half."

"So what are the rules of this game again?" Aramis asked, leaning against Porthos.

As expected, this set Porthos off on an enthusiastic ramble about the Celtics, allowing Aramis time to scan the crowd. He preferred people watching to sports anyway. He did a double take when he caught sight of a startlingly handsome man heading down their row. A cheerful looking younger couple followed him, their bright smiles at odd with his serious expression.

Porthos fell silent as the man sat down in the seat beside Aramis, likely noticing how attractive the man was. Blue eyes met Aramis's as the man sat, inclining his head in a polite greeting.

Aramis remembered to return it only at the last moment, cheeks flaming.

The couple sat on the man's other side, the young woman between the two men. Both were still chatting animatedly, and Aramis caught the name Athos before Porthos started talking again, ruining his chances to eavesdrop.

The game started a few minutes later. Porthos cut off abruptly as soon as it began, his focus on the court before him. Aramis tried to pay attention to the game, but he could barely remember which team was which, and as he'd ignored Porthos's explanation he had no idea what the rules were.

It didn't take him long to realize the game must be a good one. The crowd around him was constantly shifting, jumping to their feet as points were scored and rising up to cheer for particularly successful plays. When the wave went around, Aramis allowed himself to be swept up in it, noting as he did that Athos did not rise.

When he sat down, he noticed he'd been pushed up against Athos's side by the jostling crowd. Their thighs were brushing, and despite Porthos on his other side, Aramis was suddenly very much aware of just how attractive this Athos was. He let the contact linger for a moment longer than necessary before apologizing and drawing away.

Athos gave him a faintly amused smile as he did so, as if perfectly aware of what he'd done. Interested, then.

Good.

The rest of the first half passed uneventfully. Aramis gave up paying attention to the game about halfway through and instead did his best to spy on Athos out of the corner of his eye without the other man noticing. Every so often Porthos would glance over at him and shake his head fondly, but there was an interested light in his eyes, so Aramis took it as permission.

"Half's coming up, you want a beer?" Porthos asked, distracting Aramis from his latest pursuit, which was happily comparing the lines in Athos's hands to Porthos's. As far as he could tell, they were equally perfect.

"Hmm? No, I'm fine," Aramis said, looking over at him. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sudden roar of the crowd.

"Ha, check it out," Porthos said suddenly, pointing up at the board.

Aramis turned and saw the kiss cam had found a target. Blue eyes blinked in surprise, narrowing angrily at the camera. It was pointing at Athos and the woman next to him, who looked rather amused. The young man on her other side looked thoroughly put out.

"Looks like we have to kiss, Athos!" the woman shouted over the noise of the crowd. The people sitting near them were beginning to chant.

Athos glanced over at her. "I cannot kiss you, D'Artagnan would never forgive me," he replied. The young man on her other side perked up.

The crowd was beginning to boo now, realizing the expected kiss wasn't coming. Abandoning all common sense, Aramis acted.

The logical thing would have been to wait another minute for D'Artagnan to lean in and steal the camera to kiss his girlfriend, but Aramis was rarely logical. He saw a chance, and so he took it. Waiting only a moment to ensure that Athos saw him coming, he leaned in kissed him full on the mouth.

The stadium fell silent for a moment, and then erupted into cheers. Porthos was laughing behind him, and the young couple were beaming at him.

"I'm Aramis," Aramis said breathlessly, pulling back. Athos was blinking at him, looking rather dazed. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Please," Athos replied, smiling slightly.

The game had just become a lot more interesting.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - (300 words apiece) Who holds… the umbrella when it rains, the popcorn at the cinema, the ice cream cone when they share, the remote when they sit down to watch a movie, the camera when they take pictures together
> 
> Oh, it's the last day! That came up fast. Wow, the end of April. I'm almost done with my second to last year of college! Eep! And in less than two weeks, I WILL BE IN LONDON. Exciting times! Hope you've all enjoted this challenge, it was tons of fun to write these prompts! And a gigantic thank you to everyone who has commented, particularly DaniFogg, I'm terrible at replying to comments right now but I love you all so much!

Porthos eyed the sky out the window. It looked like rain was coming.

"You coming?" Athos called up the stairs.

"Be right down," Porthos called back, snatching an umbrella and his rain jacket from the closet as he hurried down to join Aramis and Athos in the hallway. Experience had long ago taught him he was going to need it.

Aramis and Athos were waiting for him. Predictably, neither was wearing a rain jacket. Porthos said nothing about it as they headed out, aware by now that this was an argument he wouldn't win. Aramis had never found one 'fashionable' enough, and Athos simply couldn't be bothered.

It was Porthos's responsibility to make sure they didn't both catch pneumonia and die.

They set off down the road, walking slowly. Aramis wove his way between them, chatting animatedly about his latest endeavor at work. Porthos kept an eye on the sky.

When the clouds finally gave way, he was the only one prepared. The umbrella was open before Aramis could even complain of the rain ruining his hair. With the ease of long practice, Porthos would his left arm around Aramis's shoulders, holding the umbrella in his left hand so it covered Athos and Aramis both. With his right hand, he flipped up his hood, since their umbrella was too small to cover all three of them.

Aramis glanced up at the cheerful red umbrella with a grin. "Our savior, as usual. What would we do without you?"

"Get wet, I suppose," Athos said from Aramis's other side, giving Porthos a grateful smile.

Porthos just laughed and angled the umbrella to ensure they were both concealed beneath it. "Someone has to look out for you two," he teased. The soft patter of raindrops accompanied them as they walked down the street.

"Do we really need a large popcorn?" Athos asked, eyeing the cavernous container with distaste. Iron Man was emblazoned across one side.

Porthos grinned at him. "You haven't been to many movies with us, love. Trust me, we need it."

Aramis came running over at the moment, waving their tickets proudly. "Are you ready to go in?" he asked, excitement rolling off him. Porthos understood completely: Athos rarely ever agreed to come to the movies with them, and they'd finally tempted him with the new _Avengers_ film. It was truly a momentous occasion.

What Athos didn't know was that action movies gave Aramis an unbelievable appetite.

They made their way into the cinema without further delay. As usual, Aramis let Porthos pick the seats. Thankfully, it wasn't crowded yet. He led them to almost the exact center of the seats, settling down happily. He was careful to position Athos in between Aramis and himself.

Athos would find out why soon enough.

Just as Porthos suspected, the crunching began before the previews were even finished. He had no idea why, but watching any sort of action movie, especially a Marvel film, made Aramis devour popcorn like it was nothing. He would crunch his way through it until it was gone. That was why they needed a large.

The second thing Athos needed to learn was how difficult it was to get Aramis to share.

He could see Athos trying to grab a handful of the popcorn, but Aramis appeared not even to notice him. He kept shoveling popcorn into his mouth, totally engrossed in the new _Fantastic Four_ trailer on the screen.

Athos turned to Porthos, looking rather lost. Smirking, Porthos reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of candy bars, passing one to Athos. He always came prepared.

"You sure splittin' this is a good idea?" Porthos asked, juggling the ice cream cone in one hand and a pile of napkins in the other.

"Of course, _querido_ , what could go wrong?" Aramis asked, pulling it from his hands. Over Aramis's shoulder, Athos was smirking at him, sipping his milkshake in a rather smug manner.

Porthos's doubts about the wisdom of splitting a large, soft serve twist were not allayed when Aramis literally bit the top off it.

"Did you just _bite_ it?" he asked, snatching the cone back.

Aramis blinked at him, ice cream all over his mouth. "Yes. Why?"

"You don't bite ice cream!" Porthos said, appalled. "You lick it!" To demonstrate, he licked a large swath along the side of the twist.

"It'll melt before you can finish it if you do that," Aramis said, tugging it back towards him impatiently. Athos was watching the exchange with an expression of immense exasperation. "You have to bite it!"

"No, that's weird! What's wrong with you?"

The initially playful debate quickly turned to childish squabbling as they fought for control of the cone.

"Oi, share!"

"You share!"

"You just had a turn!"

"Give it!"

"Argh, you bit it again!"

"Porthos, let go!"

The argument was ended abruptly when Aramis got annoyed and fit his entire mouth around the ice cream, biting off a huge section and leaving what was left smooth and melting. Ordinarily, Porthos would be impressed Aramis could get his mouth around something that big. Right now, it just pissed him off.

"Now the whole thing is ruined," he said angrily. Aramis stuck out his tongue.

"You're both children," Athos said, appearing at Porthos's elbow with a long-suffering expression. A moment later, a fresh cone was stuck into his hands. "From now on, no one shares!"

"I want to watch _Daredevil_."

"No."

"Athos, please."

"We already agreed to watch _Game of Thrones_ tonight."

"Porthos, help me out here," Aramis pleaded, turning to him with his best puppy dog eyes.

Porthos just snorted. "Babe, you know the rule. Whoever's got the remote picks the show."

"But Athos always has the remote," Aramis said, flopping back dramatically. Porthos caught him before his head could hit the side table.

"I don't always have it, I just usually have it," Athos said haughtily.

Porthos frowned. "He's right, actually. Why do you usually have it, love?"

"Because he's a control freak who can't handle change," Aramis muttered darkly from where he'd squished himself against Porthos's side.

Athos glared at him. "I am not a control freak. I just think that whoever holds the remote must be sensitive to things like volume, and the need to pause. When you hold it, we end up deafened or missing crucial scenes."

"That doesn't explain why Porthos couldn't hold it for once," Aramis said uncharitably.

Athos did not answer right away. From the look on his face, he was trying to find an answer that wouldn't prove Aramis right.

He was too slow. "I knew it! You don't have a reason. You are a control freak!" Aramis crowed, pushing himself up once more.

Athos spluttered something and began pushing buttons on the remote. Within moments, the opening theme for Game of Thrones began playing. Before Aramis could come up with another argument, Athos had fast-forwarded to the first scene. Aramis was forced to fall silent or risk missing something important, though he grumbled intelligibly against Porthos's side for a while longer.

Porthos let it go. He knew they would only wrestle the remote away from Athos when they pried it from his cold, dead fingers.

"Smile!" Porthos had less than a second to grin before the iPhone camera went off, blinding him.

He blinked the spots from his vision and glanced to the left. Either Athos's reflexes had failed him, or he'd intentionally scowled at the camera.

"Must you take so many pictures?" Athos asked.

"You're just jealous that the camera loves me best," Aramis said airily, tapping away on his phone. No doubt uploading it to Instagram.

"If you continue to spring pictures on me in such reckless fashion, the camera will be the only thing that loves you," Athos growled. Aramis just laughed and held the phone up to Porthos with a hopeful look.

"Indulge me?" he asked.

"When don't I?" Porthos snorted, allowing Aramis to drop into his lap. He kept an eye on the image of himself on the screen while Aramis positioned himself just right. At the precise moment when Aramis's finger hovered over the button to take the picture, Porthos gave him bunny ears.

"Porthos!" Aramis said, pouting at him. "I wanted a good picture."

"I think it's good," Porthos chuckled. Beside them, Athos was smirking.

'We are retaking it," Aramis declared, lifting the camera again.

Not one to go down alone, Porthos reached out to haul Athos into frame as well. The both spent about thirty seconds being lectured by Aramis about smiling for pictures and looking respectable.

"Now, smile!" Aramis said sternly, lifting the camera. Athos and Porthos obediently grinned. A moment later the shutter clicked.

When the picture came up on the screen, Porthos saw Athos had scowled just as the flash went off, and he'd managed to give Aramis bunny ears again.

Aramis insisted on taking another photo, searching for the perfect picture, but Porthos was convinced they'd already taken it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed this? Leave a comment. If you're interested in our next prompt challenge, follow us on Tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave or comehitherashes to find out when it will be! Until the next time, au revoir, mes amis!


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